False Starts
by Aglio - Saggezza
Summary: A series of unfinished story beginnings that I may or may not ever go back to working on – therefore, read at your own risk. Fandoms so far include Kuroko no Basuke, Harry Potter, and a crossover between the two. Some of these stories include SLASH: namely, AkaKuro and NijiKuro, as of yet. Themes go from fluffy friendship to angsty romance, and everything in-between.
1. KnB - ABO 'verse - AkaKuro

**So! As the summary explained, this will be a collection of half-finished stories that have been sitting pretty on my hard disk for a while, mainly of the** **Harry Potter** **and/or** **Kuroko no Basuke** **fandoms (though there are far more KnB fica at this point in time), that I may pick up again someday, but most likely won't.**

 **Some of these story beginnings are short, others are very long, but** **either** **way, I recommend you don't read 'em unless you're absolutely _certain_ that you won't end up bitterly disappointed when you remember that, oh right, these will never be finished, 'cause my goal in life is making you readers happy, not miserable.**

 **Anyway, on to this particular unfinished fic.**

 **Pairing(s): AkaKuro**

 **Word count: 2235**

 **Warning(s): references to M-rated matters, story is set in an A/B/O universe but doesn't actually include any porn, and…that's it, I think.**

 **Disclaimer: I disclaim.**

* * *

When Kuroko Tetsuya, a very late bloomer, finally presents as a beta at the age of sixteen, everyone who knows him is surprised. But not as surprised as they are when Akashi Seijuro, the alpha prime Tetsuya has been all but mated to since he was twelve years old, doesn't drop him like a hot potato.

Both reactions are irritating, but understandable.

After all, Tetsuya certainly _looks_ the part of an omega, with his icy beauty and compact frame, so most people used to leave it at that, overlooking the undeniable fact that there's really nothing even remotely pliant or submissive about Tetsuya at all. His body, small as it may be, is all muscle and sinew and bone, possessing none of the childbearing-ready softness of an omega. He is quiet and soft-spoken, but not self-effacing – rather, he is strong-willed and confident and blunt almost to the point of rudeness despite his relentless formality. Tetsuya survived three years on a basketball team completely made up of alphas and went on to befriend another one as soon as high school began, and he's never had any trouble teasing or needling or outright striking his alpha friends whenever he felt it was necessary.

Most tellingly of all, Tetsuya has never had trouble standing up to Seijuro, even when the scarlet-haired alpha prime was at his most imposing; and that is but one of the many reasons why Seijuro never wants to let Tetsuya go.

Seijuro has nothing against omegas, truly – his late yet still much beloved mother was one, after all – but he certainly wouldn't ever want one for a lover. As an alpha prime, earning the submission of even other alphas is as natural as breathing to him; boring, even. The sight of young omegas going about their lives already looking for bonding prospects, their necks bared teasingly even as they demurely avert their eyes from Seijuro's dichromatic ones and tilt their heads ever-so-slightly to the side to show off their unblemished napes, has never done much for him – mostly because even before he presented, and certainly long before Tetsuya did, his heart has always sung only for _Tetsuya, Tetsuya, Tetsuya_.

Gender doesn't even factor into it. Tetsuya is so, _so_ strong, he is beautiful and kind and clever and compassionate, but he has his sadistic side too – the one that has him tormenting Kagami with Nigou at every opportunity, and wearing touches of red in his clothing simply because he _knows_ what it does to Seijuro, seeing Tetsuya parade around in _his_ colors. Tetsuya loves Seijuro truly and fully, but is never shy about telling Seijuro – in the most polite way possible – where he can shove his absoluteness, when the phantom player thinks Seijuro's head is swelling enough he just might float off into the stratosphere.

He was the one to teach Seijuro how to wrest control of his body from the side of him that was all _alpha prime_ , and return to being the person he wanted to be. Tetsuya was the one to hold Seijuro as he trembled under the weight of all the pain his other half had wrought upon his loved ones and enemies alike while he was trapped in his own mind. Tetsuya was the one Seijuro hurt the most with his selfishness and greed and foolish pride, and yet was also the one who forgave him instantly because the miraculous little phantom just loves him _that much_.

Knowing all that…alpha, omega, or even beta as the case may be, how could Tetsuya's gender possibly make Seijuro love him any less?

* * *

Tetsuya presents as a beta a few months after his sixteenth birthday, unexpectedly. Some people remain Undecided all their lives after all, namely those who still haven't presented after the age of fourteen, and Tetsuya honestly wouldn't have been particularly bothered if he had turned out to be one of them.

His grandmother, an aging alpha who smells, even to his weak nose, of freshly washed linens, green tea and protective authority, congratulates him on reaching maturity when he comes down for breakfast, and though he does get an extra serving of tamagoyaki (which he would've really rather gone without, actually, but his Obaa-sama will take any excuse to feed him up and he's long since been resigned to it), that's about all the fuss that's made over his sudden coming of age. Tetsuya hadn't expected anything more, and he likes it that way, really.

The reaction he gets from his teammates is a different story.

"YOU'RE NOT AN OMEGA?" the so-called 'freshman trio' (much to their dismay, the nickname has followed them even into their second year) scream in perfect synchronization when he appears silently in the gym for morning practice.

Tetsuya startles so badly at being spotted without having to announce his presence first that he almost rips a hole into the wristband he'd been tugging at. He looks up, sees the completely astonished looks on his friends' faces (save for the notable exception of Kagami), and instantly knows the reason for them: since he's been completely odorless, if not for the hint of alpha-scent his grandmother rubs into his wrists every morning for protection, for as long as they've known him, his emitting any sort of Determined-smell would naturally come as a shock to them. Still, he remains calm as he gives a polite nod and replies, "Good morning, Fukuda-kun, Kawahara-kun, Furihata-kun. Indeed, it seems I'm not."

This leads to a deluge of questions, exclamations, affirmations and other assorted expressions of shock that have Tetsuya's head spinning. With his presenting came the strengthening of his still-weak senses, and the way his brain instinctively registers and classifies _astonishment-relief-pride-worry-protectiveness-sympathy_ scents when yesterday he would only have been able to tell that his Senpai had been exercising for a while and definitely needed a shower, only adds to Tetsuya's disorientation.

Kagami, as he seems determined to be in all things, is his savior, dragging him out of the throng of his lively teammates and pressing Tetsuya's face into his shirt until the new yet familiar _kindness-warmth-trust-pack_ smell of his Light calms Tetsuya down. The rest of Seirin's team give them a moment, looking sheepish, but as soon as Tetsuya deems his legs steady enough to move him away from Kagami without folding under him like wet paper, they're on him like Nigou with a bone.

"Your parents are an alpha-omega pair, aren't they? How come you're just a beta?"

"And what exactly do you mean by that, ne, Hyuuga-kun? Is there perhaps something _wrong_ with being 'just' a beta…?"

"Haha, now calm down, Riko, I'm sure Hyuuga didn't mean it that way!"

"I had you pegged as an omega for sure, Kuroko. Who else but an omega could possibly have skin like _that_?"

"Not to mention you're not the tallest guy out there. Oh! Tall and…"

"Shut up, Izuki! D.O.S.!"

"Captain, you just ripped that off Sket Dance! Also, Mitobe says, 'Izuki, you shouldn't talk when you're not even ten centimeters taller than Kuroko'."

"Do you feel any different? Your scent is still really weak, but you must feel different, right? What's it like, being a beta?"

Tetsuya remains silent through his teammates' hailstorm of chatter. Through ease of long experience, he knows they're not actually expecting any input from him, and won't be until they've talked themselves into a slightly calmer state; so it comes as a surprise when a question _is_ addressed to him, loaded with so much careful empathy that he knows it can't possibly be rhetorical.

"Kuroko, are you gonna be alright?"

Furihata Kouki is plain-looking for an omega, but possesses a very pleasant scent – freshly baked sweet buns and piping hot cocoa, Tetsuya's newly sharpened nose tells him – and a kind, understatedly courageous personality that actually makes him quite popular among alphas. Out of the freshman trio, Tetsuya would say that Furihata is the closest to him, so he's not surprised by the warm-hearted boy's worry; discerning the cause of it, however, is quite beyond him.

"I feel fine, Furihata-kun. As a beta, I did not have to endure any kind of… _hardship_ upon being Determined." Several of his teammates blush despite his euphemism, but Tetsuya doesn't spare it much more than an amused thought, eyes trained on the nervous way Furihata is shifting from foot to foot.

"No, it's not that. It's just, well…Akashi. How…how're you holding up?"

All of Seirin instantly quietens at that, exchanging somber glances before looking back at Tetsuya with compassion positively dripping from their eyes, but Tetsuya is just confused. What does Akashi-kun have to do with anything? The redhead isn't ill as far as Tetsuya knows (though the mere thought sends a bolt of panic through his heart), and Tetsuya isn't sure why everyone has suddenly dropped the topic of his presenting in favor of this baffling inquiry, though he isn't complaining. That reminds him, though.

"Ah, right," Tetsuya says tonelessly, fishing his cellphone out of the pocket of his loose shorts and promptly dialing a familiar number. "I suppose I should tell Akashi-kun the good news."

"Ah, WAIT!" the whole team – again, minus Kagami, who is rolling his eyes and grumbling about overdramatic idiots, which is really rather rich coming from him – screams, darting towards him as if ready to rip the phone out of his hands, but they back off with despairing expressions when they see that he's already pressed 'call'.

Instead, Riko says, giving him a look that is one part encouragement and three parts dread, "Kuroko-kun, why…why don't you put your call on speaker just this once, ne?"

"So we can all warn that bastard that tickets to Kyoto aren't that expensive and we know where he lives," Hyuuga mutters with a quite frankly psychotic, clutch-time mode-ish look on his face, which is reflected on those of all of Tetsuya's senpai, even genial Tsuchida and cheerful Koganei. Kuroko spares them a baffled look, wondering what Akashi-kun could possibly have done to piss them off _this_ time – the picture incident from their amusement park date a few months ago comes to mind, but even then his senpai hadn't looked _this_ angry – but ultimately forgets about it when a _click_ is heard and his boyfriend's quiet but no less assertive voice rings out into the now dead silent gym.

" _Tetsuya? This is a surprise. You're usually too busy with practice to call me so early_."

"If Akashi-kun dislikes it so much, I can refrain from calling at all in the future," says Tetsuya, easily falling into the rhythm of their usual banter and ignoring the way his friends' looks begin to verge on pity when they hear the affection in Tetsuya's monotonous words.

" _Never. I don't think I could survive without getting my dose of Tetsuya every day_ ," Akashi-kun replies, serene, because he is shameless enough to speak such cheesy lines with a straight face – probably mostly because he knows it's one of the only things besides heatstroke that can make Tetsuya blush. " _In all seriousness, though, is something wrong?_ "

"Not particularly." Tetsuya is fine with his newly revealed gender, but maybe presenting as an omega would've actually made his teammates fuss over him _less_ – which is an odd thought, given that presenting as a beta is completely painless when compared to an alpha or omega's presentation, but, well, Seirin is an odd team, so he really should've seen it coming. "I presented last night. I'm a beta," Kuroko says without preamble.

While Tetsuya's teammates perform fine impressions of 'The Scream', Akashi's chuckle sounds through, slightly tinny from the cheap cell's speakers but filling Kuroko's heart with warmth all the same. The _other_ Akashi never laughed, not even manically or out of sadistic delight, so Tetsuya makes sure to treasure every instance of Akashi's mask being shaken by mirth, as he knows Akashi does for him. " _It seems like I was right again, Tetsuya_."

"You thought there were equal chances that I would remain Undecided forever, actually. Also, if you think you'll be winning the InterHigh this year, Akashi-kun, you are once again dead _wrong_."

Kagami, who was once the victim of one of Bokushi's admittedly more psychotic outbursts, makes a sound like a frog being trodden on at Tetsuya's boldness, but of course Akashi only laughs once more. " _Normally, I would propose that we made this challenge more interesting, but I don't want to ruin your poor teammates' virgin ears_." If Tetsuya were the type, he would roll his eyes: no matter how _experienced_ Akashi likes to make others believe he is, he and Tetsuya have only gone all the way twice, and the second time was only marginally less terrible than the first one. Alcohol was involved, which, for two quasi-virgin boys, was never going to end well.

Tetsuya reminisces briefly over just how much of a bad idea it had been to assume, in their intoxicated states, that a tiny bit of preparation using handsoap from the restaurant's restroom would be enough for Tetsuya's skinny body to take in Akashi's girth. Still, the first time had been even worse, and they'd actually been sober back then. Strawberry jam as lube – ugh. _Never again_ , Tetsuya thinks with a wince, even as his friends emit various gasps of shock at Akashi's words.

(Just because Akashi is no longer half-deranged, it doesn't mean that his tendency for being annoyingly knowledgeable about everything has changed any.)

* * *

 **And that's all she wrote. Literally.**

 **The gist of this story was that in this particular A/B/O 'verse, most alphas tend to mate with omegas** ** _only_** **, especially the rare alpha primes, whose pheromones are so powerful that even the strongest of "normal" alphas can't stand up to them. Akashi is in love with Kuroko, and remains so despite his boyfriend's newly revealed status as a beta.**

 **But Akashi senior wants his son to break up with said beta in favor of a more suitable spouse, and then there are other concerns – such as the fact that Kuroko's beta body simply isn't made to withstand the ruts Akashi goes through twice a year, as an omega's body could…**

 **…** **And that was just about all the plot development I had devised by the time I decided to drop this story in favor of more interesting pursuits**.


	2. KnB - KurokoOC

**Pairing(s): Kuroko Tetsuya/Amatsuka Miho (female OC), references to various other SLASH ships.**

 **Warning(s): vulgarity. Also, this story isn't so much incomplete as its is ****_not even written yet_** **, but I actually hold a deep love for this OC nonetheless, so I'm publishing this. Skip ahead to the next chapter if you dislike OC fics.  
** **Because this story was never properly written out, it's mostly in the form of an unpolished synopsis, theater-style dialogue, and a character design info sheet for the OC in question.**

* * *

The Seirin team is just lounging around chatting, and then the subject of crushes comes up. Everyone relates their own past or present crushes, and then the subject turns to Kuroko. Koganei is like, "Nah, Kuroko seems like the type that's focused on basketball and nothing else! Plus, even when that gorgeous manager-chan from Teikō was hanging all over him he didn't react at all..."

But then Kuroko says, "Actually, there _is_ someone I like."

So everyone exclaims "EHHHHH?!", and Izuki says, "So you did like Momoi-chan after all?"

But Kuroko only shakes his head. "It's not Momoi-san. It's a person I knew from Teikou...but she's attending Shuutoku now. And she's never returned my feelings."

Everyone is quite fascinated.

"Eh, really? That's so sad."

"Kuroko's crush, huh?"

"I wonder what kind of person she is?"

(And they come up with mental images ranging from a supermodel, to an ultra-shy nerd, a tall sportswoman, a girl with just as little presence as Kuroko, a female version of one or more of his ex-teammates, etc.)

Then Kuroko says bluntly, "She's a _fujoshi_."

Dead silence.

"We became very close friends in middle school because she was somehow able to notice my presence most of the time, and when I made first string thanks to Akashi-kun she instantly proclaimed herself 'my biggest fan'. She used to go to all my games and cheer for me, even louder than most of the crowd, but the other spectators were always confused because they didn't see anyone named 'Kuroko' on the court."

Another beat of silence, as the rest of the team quietly sympathizes, (in a burst of anime tears) with poor, unnoticeable Kuroko.

"By the end of our second year I had begun to think that she liked me back, so I was gearing myself up to confess, but then she said to me out of the blue one day: 'Tecchan and that scary Akashi-kun would make a really cute couple, ne?'"

The whole of Seirin's team promptly choke on their own spit.

"She then added, 'It would be so adorable – _yandere_ meets _kuudere_! Or a _kuudere_ x _kuudere_ pairing, if it were with that really tall one, Murasakibara-kun. Or a _tsundere_ x _kuudere_ pairing, if it's with the glasses character Midorima-kun, or the _ganguro_ Aomine-kun! But even KiKuro would be cute...Tecchan is a _kuudere_ of course, but when it comes to Tecchan Kise-kun is just _dere-dere_! So fluffy!'"

Still nothing on the Seirin front, as they appear to have turned to stone.

"It was so traumatic that I still remember her entire speech word for word. And then she gave the finishing blow: 'Tecchan is so pretty and beautiful, he would make the perfect _uke_ for anyone after all!'"

The entire male portion of the Seirin team wince in unison, feeling an imaginary arrow piercing them right through the gut despite not having been the recipient of those words.

"I believe whatever was left of my male pride, after being dragged along to so many anime conventions full of yaoi _doujinshi_ booths, died that day."

 _'TO HAVE ENDURED SUCH PAIN AND YET STILL BE ABLE TO KEEP GOING AND PRESERVE YOUR FEELINGS FOR HER DESPITE THAT...YOU'RE A TRUE MAN, KUROKO!'_ Izuki, Koganei, Tsuchida, Hyuuga and the freshman trio think in chorus.

Suddenly, Kuroko smiles.

"But I still like her very much. Even though she's never really seen me as a man, she's one of the best people I know. She believed in me before I ever developed my basketball style, and she always encouraged me, bringing me honeyed lemons and a clean towel and some Pocari every time I stayed after school to practice, even though she wasn't in any club at all. She is truly kind, honest (almost painfully so), optimistic, and she has a beautiful smile as well. I'm very happy to have met her..."

The Seirin team simultaneously blush at the sight of Kuroko's warm smile – _'Seems like this mystery girl's assessment of Kuroko isn't that far-off after all…'_ – and decide to do everything in their power to get their _kouhai_ /teammate/shadow and this girl, together.

* * *

 ** _*click*_** "Hello?"

"Ah, good evening! You are...Amatsuka Miho-san, right?"

"Yup, this is she! Whom am I speaking to?"

"Ah, I'm Aida Riko...Kuroko Tetsuya-kun's senpai, and the coach of Seirin high's basketball team."

"Eh, Tecchan's—? Is something wrong? Did Tecchan get injured? Is he sick? Is he okay? "

"Oh, uh – yes! That is, no, there's no problem! Kuroko-kun is absolutely fine! It's just...he mentioned to us recently that the two if you haven't seen each other in a while, so I thought—"

"Tecchan misses me? I'm so happy! Oh, he's such an adorable guy, isn't he? And so shy! So _tsundere_ of you, Tecchan, forcing your kind _senpai_ to call me in your stead because you're too embarrassed to arrange a meet-up yourself...ahhhn, so _moe_!"

 ** _*twitching eyebrow*_** \- ' _This girl..._ ' - "So, would next Saturday be fine, then?"

* * *

 **Character design sheet**

 **Name:** Amatsuka Miho (named after Amatsuka Megumi from Cheeky Angel and Amakata Miho from  Free!)

Student of Shuutoku High School

 **Age:** 15 going on 16.

 **Height:** 163 cm. **Weight:** 57 kg. **Cup size:** D (Japan standards)

 **Birth date:** September 23rd – Virgo

 **Blood type:** O

 **Appearance:** straight dark brown hair held up in high twin-tails. She's got a small, round nose; a pretty enough face, with big round eyes the color of copper coins, a mouth that's suited to smiling and laughing, and a perpetual healthy flush to her cheeks. Her body is somewhat tall by Japanese standards, but voluptuous.

 **Clothing preference:** She likes to wear simple, brand-less clothing: as long as it's pretty and not too expensive, she'll take it. She prefers skirts to pants because they're comfier and she likes to wear shirts with semi-deep necklines because she's got it, so why not flaunt it? Her favorite accessory is a pair of emerald-green hair ribbons Kuroko gave her for her fourteenth birthday. She likes to wear striped knee-high socks in rainbow colors with her school uniforms, which teachers always gripe at her about, but she has yet to give in on this matter.

 **Personality-wise:** she's a pretty agreeable girl all around: she's outgoing and friendly, though she has a tendency to TMI everyone around her with news of whatever yaoi manga she's read lately. Because she tends to think of guys as romantic partners for _each other_ rather than for her, she has no problem speaking with guys. She's stubborn but isn't quick to anger, and is not prone to violence despite some of the stuff she reads; she comes off as an extrovert, but really, long periods of solitude don't bother her.

 **Home life:** she lives in a quiet, safe neighborhood a 30-minute train ride away from Shuutoku. Her house is fairly big, and she lives there with her dragon-like mother **Emi** , her cool older brother (who has a strong but _tsundere_ kind of sister complex, and whom she calls "Aniki", which leads to accusations of her being "not cute at all") **Shuuichi** and her golden retriever **Ryouta**. Shuuichi has a very pretty and sharp-minded fiancée named **Hitoka**. Shuuichi and Miho's father, **Ryuuji** , is the strong and silent type but very affectionate to his family; he lives and works in the USA.

 **Dream for the future:** becoming the author of a worldwide-bestselling novel series featuring a gay romance between its main characters.

 **Hobbies & talents: **reading, writing and drawing other people's yaoi fanfiction and doujinshi, as well as her own. She also enjoys following BBC series (Doctor Who, Merlin and Torchwood, among others – thus her impressive grades in her English classes, if nothing else), taking long walks with her dog, and is a member of her school's tennis club. She's a decent cook but doesn't have a varied repertoire yet.

 **Likes:** Kuroko Tetsuya, yaoi, tennis, chocolate, solitude, reading, soft couches full of fluffy pillows, her dog, sleep, flowers, European architecture

 **Dislikes:** bugs, Aomine Daiki, the dark, crowds, bitter or sour foods, uncleanliness, close-minded people who look down on her favorite hobbies

 **Relationship with other characters:**

\- She appreciates **Kuroko** 's quiet, polite and gentlemanly personality, though she likes his more sadistic and/or silly sides just as much, and she finds him adorable. She sees him as her best friend. When he shows her his manlier, more mature side, it really gets her heart tap-dancing, but she chalks it up to extreme excitement from the yaoi-fantasy fodder he gives her.

\- She regularly pumps her classmate and sort-of friend, **Midorima** , for information on how Kuroko is doing. He sees her as a very irritating sort of friendly acquaintance, but will admit that he doesn't hate her, though he _has_ been sorely tempted to kill both her and **Takao** , whom she gets along with like a house on fire, whenever they take to needling him together.

\- Her relationship with the rest of the _Kiseki no Sedai_ is complicated: she totally ships them with Kuroko, but at the same time resents them for what they did to him. She doesn't get along with **Aomine** whose lazy attitude pisses her off, she and **Murasakibara** like each other well enough but aren't close, she finds **Kise** cute in a puppyish way (mostly due to his resemblance to her beloved dog, Ryouta) but his two-facedness annoys her, and she thinks that the **new Akashi** is pretty much the ideal _seme_ and is very yum-yum, but misses the cuter, kinder and more princely **Akashi of before** , too.

\- She and **Momoi** get along well, but aren't particularly close, as Momoi is more interested in fantasizing about Kuroko being _hers_ than about him being with someone else, be they male or female. She and Momoi can both agree that Kuroko is the sweetest, most adorable human being to have ever walked the Earth, though.

\- The **Seirin team** is both terrified and fascinated with Miho – for being the crush of Kuroko of all people, and for being an out-and-proud fujoshi. She has somewhat managed to bring **Riko** over to the dark (yaoi) side, though the memory of the KiyoHyuu fantasy she happily narrated to the whole team still makes **Hyuuga** want to cry tears of blood. **Kiyoshi** just thought it was hilarious. **Kagami** is generally annoyed with her for being so damn weird, but he likes her well enough, really, because he can see how happy Kuroko is whenever she's around; the KagaKuro shipping has _got_ to stop, though.

 **First canon appearance:** after the first Shuutoku match. She comes by to watch Shin-chan (she picked up the nickname from Takao) lose to her beloved Tecchan – she has the utmost faith in her old friend and favorite _uke_! – and tags along with him and Takao to the _okonomiyaki-ya_ , happily sitting herself down on a suddenly very stiff, robot-like Kuroko Tetsuya's lap when she finds that the table he's sitting at, with the addition of Midorima, is now full.

 **Eventual pairing resolution:** after leading his team to victory in the Winter Cup, Kuroko feels that his unfinished business with the Generation of Miracles is no longer holding him back, and takes a chance by asking her out. She is extremely surprised, and blushingly tells him that she hasn't ever thought of him that way before, which, he informs her, isn't true – his powers of observation have told him that she is indeed attracted to him (dilated pupils, blushing etc.). Uncharacteristically bashful, she agrees to one date, and for the next three months they're " _that_ couple", the sickeningly adorable one that spends every moment they have together staring into each other's eyes and sharing inside jokes. Afterwards, the honeymoon phase is finished and they go back to Kuroko making deadpan _tsukkomi_ s while she shamelessly goes on at length about all her fujoshi fantasies, regardless of time and location – though they now do this while covertly holding hands.

* * *

Every time Aomine and Miho meet, they fight. (This time, the Seirin team + Miho bump into Aomine on a train to…one of Seirin's games, doesn't matter which one.)

 **Aomine:** What the hell! It's _you_? What are _you_ doing here?!

 **Miho:** I have a name, _ganguro_ -san. It's very poor manners on your part not to use it.

 **Aomine:** Isn't that my line, you crazy bitch!

 **Miho:** And to answer your question, I'm obviously here to watch Tecchan's match. Idiot. **_*pushes up imaginary glasses*_**

 **Aomine:** Stop imitating that _megane_ bastard! God, I have no idea why Tetsu's still friends with _you_...

 **Miho:** That's because I'm a million times nicer than you could ever be, of course. How dare you keep using cute couple nicknames for Tecchan when you abandoned him, you insensitive Ahomine!

 **Aomine:** For the last time, it's not a couple nickname! Besides, aren't you nicknaming him too?! ...And quit insulting me, dammit!

 **Miho:** I call it like I see it. Just...stop talking, you jerk! You hurt Tecchan so much...I don't care how much you grovel; I'll never pair the two of you together again! The AoKuro ship has officially sunken, _forever_!

 **Aomine:** Like hell I'd care about something like that! I don't like Tetsu like that, dammit – I like _women_ , women with big boobs! Big boobs that are totally wasted on _you_ , you depraved fujoshi!

 **Miho:** Ha! What a pathetic insult. Being a fujoshi is something I take pride in! Besides, why would I want a man's hands on my tits, when he could be using them to rub another man's d*ck instead?

 **Seirin team:** _DON'T JUST SAY SOMETHING LIKE THAT SO PROUDLY!_

 **Kuroko:** Aomine-kun, Amatsuka-san, please don't argue so loudly. You are bothering the other passengers.

 **Seirin team:** _AND KUROKO TOTALLY MISSED THE POINT AS USUAL!_

* * *

 **Despite Miho's complaints, I very much _do_ ship AoKuro.**

 **Miho isn't a self-insert: we obviously share some interests, and I am the owner of a golden retriever as well (though he, unfortunately, isn't named after Kise), but our looks and personalities are near-complete opposites. Make of that what you will.**


	3. HP-KnB fusion - Akashi-like Harry

**Now, this lil' baby is what I (and many others, I believe) like to call a fusion, as opposed to a full-on crossover. This was born from my desire to write an HP/KnB crossover featuring Harry as Akashi, though I hadn't quite managed to figure out how I could make that happen at the time (that particular story stub will come in a few chapters): and so, this story happened instead.**

 **Pairing(s): either this would've remained gen, or there would've been a HP/LL pairing because Luna is the best.**

 **Word count: 1533**

 **Warning(s): some mentions of child neglect bordering of abuse (not surprising, as this is a Harry Potter fic), and some Gary Stu-ness – but, well, this Harry is meant to be Akashi Seijuurou's magical British twin, so it was bound to happen.**

* * *

Harry doesn't really remember how or when it began.

He used to be weak, a long, long time ago. So weak that whenever he got knocked down, he would never even consider trying to get back up until he was violently tugged back to his feet. Back then, his family's word was law, and because they said that he was _worthless_ and he was _beneath them_ and he should be _grateful_ for their clemency in allowing him to taint their home with his freakish presence, he served them. He was weak. They were strong. It was the way of the world.

There was no catalyst for his change, really.

It happened on a normal winter day, when Dudley pushed him into a puddle of muddy, near-frozen water on the way home from school because Harry had gotten another perfect score on the latest quiz. The water was cold, causing Harry to let out a sharp gasp that made his cousin cackle gleefully. Harry already knew that Dudley would tell Aunt Petunia that the stains now spreading all over the smaller boy's ratty clothing had been all _Harry's_ fault, and Aunt Petunia would believe him, and Uncle Vernon would praise Dudley for placing blame where blame was due and send Harry off to his cupboard – and just like that, Dudley's failing mark on that self-same quiz Harry had aced would be swept under the rug. Dudley would get everything, while Harry was left with nothing.

It was unfair. Harry had always thought that he loathed his family more than anything and anyone in the world, but that day, he discovered that he hated _injustice_ even more.

And the Dursleys soon came to regret having ever inflicted it upon him. After all, of the two, now _he_ was the stronger.

* * *

Five years later, the whispers that followed him around Privet Drive were of an entirely different nature.

" _Look, it's that genius child from Number 4. I don't understand why Petunia insists so much on bragging about the_ other _one instead, really_."

" _Oh, and just_ look _at those cheekbones! Vernon may go on and on about how disrespectable his in-laws were, but this child clearly comes from good stock_."

" _He helped me carry my groceries a few days ago – a proper little gentleman, I can tell you that_."

" _Such a commanding bearing at such a young age! That boy will go far_."

Harry was aware of just how much public opinion of him had changed in Little Whinging, of course – he made it a point to be aware of everything. But truth be told, he couldn't have cared less. The adults' regard for him gave him a certain degree of power over them, which he definitely liked, but ultimately it was his fellow children's admiration that was most useful to him.

Of these children, the boys were in awe of him, and too afraid of being speared by his famous ice-cold glare and knocked down to their proper places to even _consider_ shunning him out of envy. The girls, for their part, were either infatuated with him, or pretending to be in order to fit in. And why wouldn't they? Harry had made every effort to be worthy of their near-reverence, and though it actually hadn't posed much of a challenge in the end, he could say he had definitely succeeded.

Perfect grades. Perfect athleticism. Perfect looks. And perfect control over himself. Those were the keys to his rise to power above the unwashed masses: perfectionism and control.

Even Little Whinging Elementary's teachers loved him, because there was just _something_ about him that made his fellow pupils cringe with shame at the mere thought of disappointing him. No-one wanted to be lazy or slow or petty enough to earn _the_ Harry Potter's disapproval, so the children worked hard, pointedly did not make even a vague attempt at sort-of bullying anyone (the consequences of the first and last time Harry had caught a fifth-grader pushing a third-grader around had _not_ been pretty), and were content in the knowledge that even if they failed, as long as they had done their best, Harry would remain proud of them, and of calling them his own.

If asked, none of them could've really explained _why_ Harry Potter's approval was so important to them, but the fact remained that it _was_ , and that was enough to get them to follow Harry's unspoken rules quietly and diligently.

 **Work hard. Be respectful, and strive to earn others' respect in turn. But above all, be** ** _just_** **.**

Even Dudley and his followers had fallen in line eventually, bowing to peer pressure and, in time, to genuine respect for his cousin's power, much to the older Dursleys' dismay. Petunia and Vernon had also soon learned that openly advertising their loathing of their by now famous nephew was a good way to get themselves blacklisted amongst their neighbors, and that forcing him to live in conditions that were beneath him – beneath any living and sentient being, really – was a _bad idea_ when there were adults Harry could go to that would actually _listen_ to his claims of abuse. (That one memorable visit from Social Services in '88 was still the elephant in the room at Petunia's garden parties.)

In another life, Vernon and Petunia Dursley would've done everything in their power to keep him away from magic the moment his Hogwarts letter arrived, while the rest of Little Whinging would have rejoiced at the chance to finally get rid of that scrappy ragamuffin from Number Four, who was always threatening their children into lying and blaming the boy's poor, innocent cousin for his misdeeds.

But in this one, the entirety of the small town's population was instead incredibly disappointed to lose their community Elementary's pride and joy to a private school for the gifted up in the Scottish Highlands; children of both genders wept into their parent's arms about losing their friend and implicit leader, even one Dudley Dursley. And Vernon and Petunia were so eager to get rid of the troublesome little brat that Petunia gladly drove him to Diagon Alley's entrance in London as fast as she could, before wheeling off without so much as a goodbye.

Even as the Leaky Cauldron became a tiny, grimy dot in her rear-view mirror, its front door swinging shut behind the most extraordinary young wizard to have ever crossed its threshold, Petunia felt a shiver lick down her spine. Those magic-wielding freaks had no idea what they were in for.

* * *

Harry Potter was nothing like the boy the wizarding world had expected.

The Boy-Who-Lived most wizards and witches imagined when a daydreaming mood struck them was tall and strong despite his young age, as rakishly handsome as his late father, with a rugged lightning-bolt scar on his forehead and eyes as green as his late mother's, the gods rest the Potters' souls, behind thick coke-bottle glasses. Despite his mischievous appearance, though, Harry Potter was noble and kind, a brave and impetuous spirit who was sometimes reckless but always did what was right.

Well, they weren't entirely wrong, in broad terms, but when it came down to it their imagination couldn't have been more off the mark if they tried.

The Harry Potter who made his way out of the throng of first years and up to the dais upon which rested the Sorting Hat's stool was _princely_ , there was no other word for it. He was short and thin, and could've been his late mother's twin if not for his messy black hair, bangs cut short in such a way that an angry pink scar stuck out like a beacon against his lily-white brow. His face was impassive, but the way his eyes kept sweeping back and forth over the length of the Great Hall made it obvious that, though he appeared indifferent to his surroundings, he was certainly not unaware of them. He walked like every patch of stone his leather-clad feet stepped on was his to own, head held high, his black school robes flaring behind him like a royal cloak, and sat down on the tiny stool with both economy of movement and dignity.

McGonagall fairly goggled at him as she set the Sorting Hat down on his messy head, somehow feeling like it should've been a crown instead – a feeling neither playful James nor gentle Lily had ever inspired in her. But she wasn't the only one: the whispers that had risen when Harry Potter's name had been announced had died a collective, violent death as soon as they had all had a proper look at the object of their rumor-mongering, and now everyone was simply waiting, wide-eyed and on the edge of their sturdy wooden benches, for the Sorting Hat to make its choice.

It was several minutes later that the Hat announced Gryffindor House's newest resident, and as Harry Potter made his way to the wildly cheering table, his face not showing a single hint of what he thought of his placement, most of Hogwarts' students suddenly got the feeling that the small, messy-haired boy before him would soon grow to be revered even more than the Boy-Who-Lived had already been before.

* * *

 **And that's it. Yup. Fun to write, but I had no idea how to continue it, so…yeah.**

 **Oh, and if you're wondering how Petunia can see the Leaky Cauldron when she's just a muggle; let's just say that she's actually a squib, or that she became permanently able to see through the building's notice-me-not wards after the many times the Evans parents dragged her through it for Lily's yearly school supply shopping trips in the summer.**


	4. KnB - AkaKuro - sociopath Kuroko

**My reasoning when I first started writing this: "how 'bout a somewhat dark fic wherein Akashi and Kuroko have been more similar than anyone thought all along. Sociopath!Kuroko who doesn't know the meaning of the word 'empathy'? Could be interesting."**

 **Pairing(s): implied AkaKuro, GoM/Kuro, KagaKuro**

 **Word count: 1445**

 **Warning(s): betrayal, mental conditions referred to in a very cavalier fashion, references to M-rated matters. Oh, and for the sake of the story, Akashi didn't return to his former "Oreshi" self during the match, and remained his heterochromatic-eyed **_**yandere**_ **self.**

* * *

The ball swished through the net.

A pair of maroon basketball shoes hit the ground heavily, their owner staggering in exhaustion.

All eyes in the stadium turned to the counter, watching as two more points were added to the underdog team's score. Milliseconds later, the buzzer sounded.

There was a full minute of dead silence, as both audience and players struggled to comprehend the match's final result.

And then the cheering began.

* * *

Kagami couldn't believe they had actually done it. They had won, against _Rakuzan_ , the so-called "Emperor of Creation", the school the most formidable Miracle of all had chosen to attend, which was also home to three of the Uncrowned Kings. They had barely done it, but they had won. They had WON!

He knew he was crying a little as he laughed like a madman in Kiyoshi-senpai's half-embrace, but he couldn't bring himself to feel too concerned about his manly pride at the moment.

The match had had so many ups and downs, so many surprise reveals and turnarounds that he felt like he'd been battling Akashi's irritatingly formidable team for _months_ ; but it had been so, so worth it. Their team had a whole new level of togetherness now, brought about by their collective entrance into the Zone's second door – and hearing their elation mirror his only brought his morale higher, until he was certain that he could pull off a hundred more of his signature jumps right at that moment, because it certainly _felt_ like he was walking on air.

And, his own status as the team's ace aside, it was all thanks to his Shadow that they had made it this fair.

Kagami looked around for the Shadow in question as Kiyoshi-senpai's arm around his shoulder was switched out for Tsuchida-senpai's, trying to spot his partner. His quick glance around didn't scare up any blue-haired shorties, though, and after a few minutes of no sign of Kuroko, he started to get worried. His partner was so invisible, what if he'd passed out from exertion right there on the court and was right now being trampled by that muscle gorilla from Rakuzan?

By then, Seirin had calmed down a bit, though they were all still grinning wide enough to show their molars – save for Coach and Hyuuga-senpai who were locked in a tight embrace and wailing their hearts out from sheer joy and relief – so everyone heard Kagami when he anxiously asked, "Hey, has anyone seen Kuroko?"

No-one had; not even Izuki-senpai's Eagle Eye could detect the phantom's presence anywhere. They were all starting to get really worried when Coach finally spotted him by Rakuzan's bench, having what looked like an actually rather civilized chat with Akashi. Kagami was irresistibly reminded of that memorable occasion with Kuroko, Kise and five thugs on a streetball court, and found himself uttering the selfsame growl of, "What the hell is he doing?", as all of Seirin rushed off to retrieve their smallest player before the reckless idiot could get himself sliced to ribbons by scissors or something else equally gruesome.

However, both ex-Teikou players really did seem to be getting along without any bloodshed: then again, Seirin had long since realized that whatever grudges the Miracles might have against each other, Kuroko was seldom involved, and in fact all of the monstrous players seemed to have an equally monstrous soft spot for their once-Shadow. It just _figured_ that Akashi wasn't an exception.

"You chose the right team, Tetsuya, I'll have to admit," the red-haired captain was saying when they came into hearing range of the Miracles' discussion, and the Seirin players all found themselves blushing a little in pleasure at hearing an actual _compliment_ from the notorious perfectionist.

"Yes, Akashi-kun," Kuroko replied as bluntly as usual, his face impassive even as he folded over, resting his hands on his knees, in an attempt to catch his breath.

"Now, stop that, Tetsuya. You know your lungs can't expand properly when you're hunched over, you need to stand up straight if you want to give your body a chance to calm down." Akashi sounded oddly motherly as he chided his ex-teammate, but the way he placed a hand on Kuroko's hip and one on his shoulder to help him straighten up, was not nearly so innocent. Kagami bristled instinctively and began to step forward, but was stopped in his tracks by Akashi's next words.

"Well, it seems it was my loss this time. You win, Tetsuya."

 _What?_ The _Akashi Seijuurou-sama is admitting to having lost at something so plainly? And why doesn't Kuroko look even the slightest bit surprised? That face of his is too unreadable, seriously!_

"Indeed, Akashi-kun. Now, pay up."

It took a few moments for Kuroko's words to register properly in Kagami's wrung-out brain, but when it did he felt anger instantly supplant his shock, and he couldn't have stopped the harsh exclamation that escaped him if he'd tried: "Kuroko, what the hell – you _bet_ with your psycho of a captain on the match's outcome?"

Kuroko, as usual, remained completely unfazed in the face of Kagami's fury. "Not exactly, Kagami-kun, but close enough. Now, Akashi-kun," he went on, now ignoring his Light as he turned to stare the captain, whose hand still rested proprietarily on his hip, straight in the eye. "I do believe you owe me a year's supply of vanilla milkshakes."

"I should have known you would fight more seriously if such a prize was at your fingertips," Akashi said seriously, apparently unaware of the disbelieving looks the basketball-chibi pair was getting from everyone in earshot. "It's a shame I lost, Tetsuya: I would have enjoyed deflowering you."

"My virginity is better kept as a bargaining chip for a later occasion," was Kuroko's cool-as-a-cucumber retort, even as Kagami roared in outrage on his behalf.

"Told you Tetsu'd win, Akashi," a deep, drawling voice spoke up from behind Seirin, and they all instinctively made way for the tanned Unstoppable Scorer who walked nonchalantly over to stand at Kuroko's shoulder.

He was soon followed by the rest of the Generation of Miracles, all of whom clustered around Kuroko as if it was the most natural thing in the world for them to do so. The sight should've been humorous, four tall players bracketing two much-smaller ones like a thicket of trees, not to mention their rainbow hair colors: but somehow, the aura they all gave off when gathered together exuded such effortless menace that a few of Seirin's benchwarmers found themselves instinctively backing away.

"That's always how it happens in dramas," Kise concurred. His usual whimsical smile was affixed to his pretty face, but his eyes were alight with a feral golden glint reminiscent of Perfect Copy. "The underdog wins in the nick of time against the final boss; and the underdog is _always_ the team that has the moral high ground over said final boss."

"Kuro-chin really likes sports manga," Murasakibara chimed in idly as he munched on a handful of chips. Midorima released a put-upon sigh as he nodded in agreement, pushing up his glasses a moment later when the movement made them slide slightly down the bridge of his nose.

"Tetsuya has indeed always had a talent for bringing dreams to life," Akashi said grandly, suddenly looking less like a half-deranged yandere or untouchable Emperor, and more like he was trying to impersonate Suoh Tamaki.

Kuroko was unimpressed with his ex-captain's apparent personality transplant and simply replied, "I am certainly not the most dramatic member of our team." Aomine coughed loudly, poorly disguising his muttered _I am a shadow_ , and was doubling over and coughing for real a moment later after Kuroko's elbow sank into his solar plexus. "Besides, this entire bet was Kise-kun's idea in the first place."

"And I was right, wasn't I?" interjected the blond in question, looking as pleased with himself as the cat that caught the canary and washed it down with a whole saucer of cream for good measure. "It was really fun! I lost twice though…still, it was the team Kurokocchi picked so no great surprises there."

"Tetsuya won mostly due to luck," objected Akashi. "If Kagami Taiga hadn't _just so happened_ to choose the no-name but not too pathetic school Tetsuya decided to take pity on and grace with his presence, none of these weaklings could have guided Tetsuya to victory."

Seirin's members were so busy feeling both outraged and gobsmacked over this sudden onslaught of insults from a person they had thought was complimenting them mere minutes ago, they almost missed Kuroko's somehow menacing retort of, " _I_ would have guided them to victory if it had come down to that, Akashi-kun."

* * *

 **Basically, in this AU, Kuroko** ** _is_** **actually just as cold and uncaring as his typical impassive expression would suggest, and all the** ** _Kiseki no Sedai_** **know it. Kuroko and Akashi have a habit of making wagers against each other, often at the expense of other people, and neither basketball shorty cares who gets hurt in the process. The rest of the GoM are aware of their captain and shadow's true natures, and love them dearly nonetheless, as they're all a little screwed in the head too, anyway.**

 **So, Akashi bet Kuroko that a well-trained, experienced team ruled by fear would definitely beat a team full of more average players with good hearts rife with determination, and Kuroko took that bet, choosing Seirin as his guinea pig and subtly manipulating them into victory over and over again so that he could win said bet against his former captain (in this AU, the whole thing with Ogiwara-kun is all a fabricated sob-story and never actually happened). And indeed, Kuroko won.**

 **Seirin, however, aren't nearly as happy about it as Kuroko and the GoM when they find out that it – that is, Kuroko's backstory, Kuroko's honest love of basketball, their bonds of trust and friendship with Kuroko – was all a lie.**


	5. KnB - NijiKuro

**This here one-shot was written because I found the rarity of NijiKuro fanfics on this website appalling, and set out to rectify that. It's rather weepy and sappy, but I thought that those two boys actually fit together surprisingly well.**

 **Pairing(s): NijiKuro, hints of various others/Kuro**

 **Word count: 8386 (yep, you read that right!)**

 **Warning(s): as said above, somewhat angsty at the beginning. Also bit of an info dump before you can get to the actual, properly-written story, so feel free to skip ahead if you wanna – though you'll miss some elements of this AU I created if you do so.**

* * *

Nijimura asks Kuroko out during the blue-haired boy's second year in Teiko (Nijimura's third), and Kuroko, who has had a crush on his captain since he joined the team, gladly accepts.

Pretty much everyone who notices Kuroko's existence ends up having a small crush on him at some point (he is good-looking, perceptive, manly, _gentle_ manly, kind, polite, compassionate…need I go on?), and the Generation of Miracles are no exception. However, if there's one person in the world whom even Akashi would rather not anger, it's Nijimura Shuuzo; not to mention, the MiraGen don't lust after Kuroko – they're in love with him, and so they wouldn't want to destroy his happiness by ruining his relationship with Nijimura. Teasing Nijimura and reminding him that if he screws things up with Kuroko, there will be more than enough volunteers to pick up the pieces; that's fair game, but actively trying to mess things up _for_ him is not.

· Nijimura is one of the only people in the world that Kuroko addresses by first name. He calls Nijimura "Shuuzo-san", which always makes Nijimura picture Kuroko in a housewife's apron and go all gooey.

· Kuroko has a habit of, outside of practice and official matches, plastering himself all over his boyfriend like an affectionate cat, which Nijimura makes a show of being annoyed at but not-so-secretly loves.

· Again, outside of practice and official matches, NijiKuro (as the team has nicknamed them) are that one almost revoltingly in-love couple that seems to be attached at the hip, has a million inside jokes, can spend hours staring into each other's eyes, and is already being not-so-teasingly pushed into marriage by both their families.

· Nijimura has a habit of letting Kuroko wear his jersey jacket, both as a sign of possession and because he simply loves the way Kuroko's fingers only barely peek out of the overly-long sleeves. Kuroko eventually starts wearing it draped over his shoulders instead (Bokushi is a copycat!). It is this particular habit that eventually earns him a title to supplement his official one as " _Kiseki no Sedai – Maboroshi no shikkusuman_ ": that of "the Captain's girl".

* * *

 **Now, on to the actual story.**

* * *

Kuroko Tetsuya, first-string regular of Teiko middle school's basketball club and phantom sixth man of the team the media have recently started calling the "Generation of Miracles", isn't feminine, not really.

His personality is so manly, in fact, that it puts his at-least-twenty-centimeters-taller teammates to shame on an almost daily basis. His shoulders are broad, his hands are large and callused and strong, and there isn't a single inch of his body that could be considered soft in the same way a woman's tends to be. One can't look at a boy who can throw a pass that cuts across the length of an entire basketball court (and breaks bones if aimed wrong, as an unfortunate second-string member found out one fateful day in Kuroko's first year); who has the kind of determination and fighting spirit that can only be found, nowadays, in period dramas featuring samurai of old; and who is so good at talking to girls that any females who are exposed to his rare, gentle smiles and kind words of encouragement can't help but fall for him in short order; and call him girly.

But Kuroko is small and slender, and his stomach is flat and toned; his waist, in pleasant contrast with his strong shoulders, is tiny; his legs are long despite his relatively short height, and taper off into slim, fragile-looking ankles and uncommonly pretty feet.

His skin is as white as milk, and more flawless than any teenager's has any right to be; he is almost completely free of body hair, and what little he does possess is such a pale shade of blue that it's almost invisible anyway.

Whenever he isn't dripping with sweat from head to toe in the aftermath of various basketball-related activities, Kuroko smells almost unfairly good. His natural scent is sharp and almost spicy, like mint and winter and cold mountain air, but holds an undertone of sweetness that those who are acquainted with him know comes from the large amounts vanilla-flavored sweets he consumes every day.

On top of it all, he's undeniably beautiful. He's got a smooth, well-proportioned face that's all pleasant slopes and curves, a long pale neck that could be called swan-like if not for the obvious muscle corded beneath the skin, and his coloring wouldn't look out of place on a _yuki-onna_ : huge, round ice-blue eyes that are far more piercing than his perpetual bland expression would suggest, that snow-colored skin, and glossy, slightly spiky hair the color of a morning sky in winter (let's not even mention the bedhead that can cause outbursts of cooing at fifty paces).

All in all, it's not surprising that nearly all the basketball players who actually notice Kuroko Tetsuya would end up harboring a small crush on the boy. An individual that's prettier than most of the real females they know, who has the calm, quiet and gentle personality of a _yamato nadeshiko_ , but who has a will of solid steel, won't take anyone's crap, and loves basketball more than anyone else…he's essentially all that a teenage _basuke-baka_ could ever want.

The abovementioned "Generation of Miracles" are no exception, Aomine and Kise being the worst offenders while Midorima is the one whose infatuation with the passing specialist is the least deep-rooted. And, out of the whole basketball, club, they would have been the ones most likely to have their confessions accepted should they have ever dredged up the guts to make them – in a parallel universe, maybe.

Because in this one, Kuroko Tetsuya is already happily taken by another man entirely – perhaps the only man in the world whom even _the_ Akashi Seijuurou is unabashedly wary of crossing.

Teiko's captain, said to be the number one power forward in the middle school circle: Nijimura Shuuzo.

* * *

As soon as Akashi introduced Shuuzo to the near-invisible kid who would one day come to stand on par with the infamous _Kiseki no Sedai_ , Shuuzo knew.

Not that said kid was hiding a unique talent that made him just as much a monster as the other five – Shuuzo didn't think that anything but Akashi's freakishly good eyes could've possibly noticed that at a glance. No, what Shuuzo knew, the instant he looked into the kid's huge blue eyes and saw the resolve that burned white-hot there, was that he was a goner.

( _Like twin will o' the wisps burning on a dark starless night, showing a weary traveler the way back to the light_ , Shuuzo thought distantly, and promptly smacked himself for succumbing to the lure of poetic sappiness.

Damn love at first sight. It'd make a pansy out of him yet.)

* * *

To an outsider, it would seem that the two of them are absolutely nothing alike, but at their core, they are similar: they love basketball and they love each other, and god have mercy on anyone who tries to get between them and either of their respective greatest loves.

Nijimura's got a broad, friendly grin that can effortlessly inspire his more dedicated teammates to do their best, while his forbidding scowl terrifies the more recalcitrant ones into doing so. He is brash and hot-tempered and violent, prone to solving his problems – and others' – with his fists; but he is a great captain nonetheless: charismatic as well as driven, understanding and warm-hearted.

Kuroko, while not afraid to reward utter stupidity with a good strong jab to the ribs, is patient, his unshakable calm a soothing balm to the minds of team's more hot-blooded members. He is also kind and perceptive and one of the best friends one could have; but on the other hand, he is too self-effacing, and has a tendency to retreat into his shell if left alone long enough.

Kuroko balances Nijimura out, grounds him, gives him a safe, tranquil haven to retreat to whenever the world gets to be too aggravating for him. Nijimura is Kuroko's anchor, assuring the passing specialist that he _is_ valuable and he _is_ precious and needed, and that Shadow or not, Kuroko is not worth any less than the bright-haired brats that are his MiraGen friends.

Their arguments never last long, not because their differences don't get in the way of their love, but because they're both the kind of blunt, borderline tactless people that won't hesitate to simply talk out their latest beef against each other until either the problem has been solved, or it's been deemed inevitable, promptly set aside, and kissed and made up over. Nijimura has no patience for traditional Japanese literature and Kuroko hates American superhero comics, but both of them will listen to the other ramble on for hours if it makes them happy. They each wear one wristband from a matching set, Kuroko's black and Nijimura's rainbow-striped, owing to Kuroko's particular brand of humor. Nijimura's father is ecstatic to have Kuroko as his future 'daughter'-in-law (Nijimura's siblings call Kuroko "Tetsu-nii"), and Kuroko's family are ever so proud of their son and grandson for snagging such a manly, responsible person as his future husband.

They're even aesthetically pleasing together: Kuroko's ethereal beauty against Nijimura's down-to-earth charm, pale and dark, slight and solid.

Indeed, there's a reason neither Kuroko's suitors nor Nijimura's handful of devoted fans have ever seriously tried to get between them: those two are that for-life kind of couple, the real deal, the type that anyone with eyes can imagine staying together until their dying day and beyond.

(That, and there's the fact that the so-called "scale of danger" in the Teiko basketball club is as follows: if you slack off and/or do something to reduce the team's chances at victory, Akashi, the vice-captain, will personally murder you and have his family's servants dispose of the body. Nijimura, the captain, will beat you up so badly your own mother wouldn't recognize you, and send you out to play against top-rate opponents anyway (and, eyes swollen shut or not, you'd better win if you know what's good for you). And Kuroko…well, the ones who suffered his wrath don't talk about it. Seriously, you don't want to know. (Just be aware that Kuroko and Nijimura-senpai are perfect for each other in nearly every way, including the way they choose to deal with those who annoy them.))

Kuroko and Nijimura are each other's most precious person, each other's reason to get up in the morning and stand tall and hold their heads up high, each other's greatest strength. Conversely, they are also each other's greatest weakness.

So when Nijimura, after giving up captaincy the previous year, announces that he will be attending high school in America for the sake of his father's rapidly declining health, the dead look that appears in Kuroko's normally incandescent blue eyes surprises absolutely no-one.

* * *

Tetsuya's third year in Teiko is like an excruciatingly long nightmare.

He feels like he's stuck underwater, slowly running out of air and yet with no hope of ever resurfacing. Color seems to have seeped out of the world around him, leaving it gray and blurred and uninteresting. The voices that reach his ears are garbled and quiet, nearly unintelligible, so hard is it for him to focus on anything. Everything he touches seems to wither and die. He's full of death, full of nothingness, and he's infecting everyone around him with it.

If it were only the matter of Shuuzo-san's departure that was pulling him down, he could've dealt with it. They haven't broken up, after all: they talk over Skyte* at least thrice a week, and Shuuzo-san sent him gifts for Valentine's Day, Christmas and his birthday. Tetsuya has even put together a tentative plan of flying across the Pacific and visiting Shuuzo-san sometime soon.

But everything is falling apart around him. Not only is his boyfriend out of his reach, his friends seem to have been replaced with pale copies of their previous selves, and Momoi-san ( _who used to be so strong and free and always strove to do her best without relying on anyone else_ ) is depending on _Tetsuya_ to somehow bring them back to the way they used to be.

Akashi-kun has snapped, there's no other way to put it: the kind, generous, almost princely boy Tetsuya so admired has become a ruthless, near-sociopathic narcissist seemingly overnight. Aomine-kun has lost his passion for basketball, has lost that wonderful bright smile that earned him the title of Tetsuya's "Light", and is spreading his despair to everyone around him in his efforts to alleviate his own pain. Kise-kun has reverted to the cynical, unpleasant boy with a smile as fake as his regard for those around him that he used to be before joining Teiko's basketball club, his thin veneer of childish melodrama doing nothing to hide the apathy in his heart. Murasakibara-kun and Midorima-kun, for their parts, seem to have simply given up on everyone and everything save for their respective obsessions, going through the motions of practice and matches without a single spark of interest, of boredom, of _anything_ alighting in their eyes.

Ogiwara-kun was Tetsuya's last friend, the last bond he could depend on to keep him sane as his world shattered to pieces bit by bit ( _because how could he burden Shuuzo-san with all this when his boyfriend is already stretched so thin just trying to keep his family together?_ ), and the Generation of Miracles destroyed that, too, with their selfishness and their arrogance and the emotional agony that shines through each of their words, each of their movements, and prevents Tetsuya from even being able to hate them.

They're as lost as he is; they're drowning too, if not for the same reason.

It hurts, though.

People-watching is Tetsuya's specialty: it's the basis for his misdirection, but most people don't realize what that means exactly. They think it to be perfectly normal that Tetsuya can keep track of five people's rapid movements and constantly shifting lines of sight during matches, well enough to remain out of their sight and serve as the phantom player he's been nicknamed for; so how can they not understand that his talent for discerning the minutest of twitches in peoples features, muscles, tendons, and determining what they're feeling, thinking and planning, in the blink of an eye, can extend to his life off the court as well?

Of course Tetsuya _knows_ that he's got a surprising number of admirers, and that all of his (soon-to-be former) first-string regular teammates are chief amongst them. The minuscule blushes, the discreet gulps, the dilation of their pupils and the involuntary jerks of their fingers: he saw them all, interpreted them, and promptly forgot all about them, because his heart belongs solely to Shuuzo-san and clearly, his (ex-)friends prefer to live under the delusion that he is romantically oblivious enough to be unaware of their feelings.

Feelings that seem to have evaporated into thin air.

It's not like he's offended that they've apparently lost interest in him: in fact, he welcomes it, because he knows full well that one day, Aomine-kun or Akashi-kun would have dredged up the courage to declare themselves to him, and then he would have had to break both their respective hearts, and his own. But it's the fact that their friendship seems to have disappeared alongside their crushes on him that bothers him.

All along, did they feel nothing for him beside a desire to make him theirs? A desire to take him away from Shuuzo-san, to possess that which others coveted and be the victor in this as well? Did he mean nothing to them, nothing more than a prize to be won, flaunted, and quickly forgotten in favor of more interesting pursuits? Had Shuuzo-san been wrong?

Was Tetsuya truly worth nothing, after all?

* * *

Shuuzo knows that something isn't right with Tetsuya.

It's not the typical concerns that one would have when one is part of a long-distance relationship. He doesn't think that Tetsuya is cheating on him, or has fallen in love with someone else, or has simply lost interest in him; rather, he looks at the way Tetsuya smiles at him during their thrice-weekly video calls, recalls the way Tetsuya had kept his lips bravely curled upward through his tears that one time he'd badly sprained his wrist during morning practice, and finds both expressions to be distressingly similar. Tetsuya is hiding something, and it's probably something that would hurt Shuuzo if he were to find out about it – but, far more importantly, it's something that's hurting _Tetsuya_ right _now_ , and that's just not acceptable.

He finds out, during a seemingly perfectly innocuous phone call with his friend Tatsuya, whose family has recently moved back to Japan, that the thing in question is actually a bunch of _something_ s put together.

" _My little brother has a new partner_ ," Tatsuya is saying. " _They beat us, if you can believe it. I thought for sure that that Akashi kid would be the only one who could defeat Atsushi, but there you have it. That underdog team is tearing its way through one powerhouse after the other – it's like something out of a sports drama_."

"What team would that be, again?" Shuuzo asks distractedly as he peels potatoes for dinner. His little brother decides that now is the perfect moment to let loose a war cry as he jumps off the couch and onto his twin's back to begin an impromptu wrestling match, so he barely hears Tatsuya's reply through the phone that's propped up between his chin and his shoulder – but the name sounds familiar enough that he can discern it. "Eh, Seirin?!"

" _Why do you sound so surprised, Shuu?_ " Tatsuya's voice is teasing, but there's a hint of genuine curiosity there. " _Taiga's told me all about it: Seirin are really determined to win this year. Taiga wants to become Number One in Japan, and his partner has sworn to help him, because it coincides with his own goal of turning the Generation of Miracles back to the way they were before_."

"Tetsuya wants to…what?" Shuuzo mutters more to himself than the shooting guard, setting down both potato and peeling knife in numb shock. "The way they were before? What the hell is that supposed to mean?!" His _kouhai_ may have been a bunch of cheeky brats who lusted after his boyfriend, but he's never wished them ill and he's not about to start now. Did they hurt themselves somehow? Permanent injury resulting in depression, or something of the sort?

" _Why would you care…oh, that's right. You're a Teiko alumnus too, aren't you? Well, Generation of Miracles they may have been, but I hear that by the time they reached their third year of middle school, their opponents knew them mostly as_ _ **monsters**_."

Tatsuya can't give him much more information than that, as he hasn't personally met any of the Generation of Miracles aside from Kuroko (briefly), Aomine (even more so), and Murasakibara (obviously). But basketball players are all prone to gossip when around their own little circle, so Tatsuya can at least tell him about the way his ex- _kouhai_ have now taken to behaving, and Shuuzo can fill in the blanks.

Gentlemanly, stick-up-his-ass Akashi turned into a psycho who promises/threatens to gouge out his own eyes if he loses a match? Happy-go-lucky Aomine turned into an arrogant, selfish player who scorns teamwork and spends his days lazing around instead of fitting every last second of basketball practice he can into his life? Murasakibara, Midorima and Kise, at least, sound like they haven't changed much, but the very subtle hint of dislike in Tatsuya's voice when he speaks of the latter two is a pretty obvious hint that this wasn't always the case.

What the hell was Shirogane- _kantoku_ thinking, letting Teiko's prized _Kiseki no Sedai_ go off the rails like that? Was he ordered to, did he lose his own damned mind as well, or did he just become senile? How the hell did _Akashi_ of all people do such a drastic personality turnaround, anyway? Did Aomine follow, or was he the first one to go off the deep end? Why didn't Midorima or Momoi or Tetsuya stop them both from going bat-shit insane in the first place?

Oh, god…Tetsuya.

Tetsuya who has a heart is made of pure steel-infused diamond – but a heart that holds a long, deep fault line caused by years of loneliness and conviction that Tetsuya would never get anyone to notice him long enough to befriend him: a heart that, if struck in just the right place, just the right number of times, might just break irreparably. Might already have done so.

Seirin is playing against Rakuzan tomorrow.

"Oi, oyaji," Shuuzo shouts over the usual racket caused by his lively siblings, hanging up on Tatsuya's slightly worried enquiries at his continued silence, and abandoning dinner preparations for good. "Where's my passport? It's high time I took a little trip back to Tokyo."

* * *

He won.

His team won. Against Rakuzan. Together, they defeated the invincible Akashi-kun, the three arguably most fearsome Uncrowned Kings, and a player who was said to be better than Tetsuya in every way. They won.

But, yet again, Tetsuya finds himself questioning the meaning of victory.

In the face of the pure, jubilant happiness that has been almost visibly bubbling from all of his teammates since the buzzer announced the end of the Winter Cup's finals, Tetsuya can't bring himself to say anything, but the thought has been nagging at him. Where does this leave him?

He won a national tournament: he's not Murasakibara-kun or Akashi-kun, but even he became so used to winning during his middle school years that it stopped meaning much to him a long time ago. Kagami-kun may have been aiming to become Number One this whole time…but that wasn't Tetsuya's goal at all. Being the victor, that's all well and good, but what he really wanted was to gain back what was lost. His former teammates' happiness, his former teammates' love of basketball, his former teammates' friendship.

But has he regained it all, really? _Really_?

Change is good, Baa-san has always told him. Change is healthy, and it's needed to keep the world from becoming stagnant – the way Teiko did, the way the _Kiseki no Sedai_ did. But even so, was it really necessary for everything to change? Couldn't Tetsuya go back to those days when all of Teiko's first-string was happy, and bright, and full of camaraderie? Couldn't he get at least a glimpse of it all, the way it used to be?

Tetsuya and Aomine-kun are on speaking terms these days, but it's not the same: Aomine-kun isn't that bright-eyed _basuke-baka_ of a boy whose easy smile could brighten the world like the sun, and Tetsuya isn't the naïve boy who clung to Aomine-kun's friendship with all his might and honestly believed that their relationship would never change.

Aomine-kun's eyes, these days, are brighter when he's around Momoi-san or Kise-kun or even Kagami-kun; but whenever those deep blue eyes meet Tetsuya's lighter ones, they fill with a cold, choking kind of guilt that makes Aomine-kun immediately look away. And Tetsuya…Tetsuya doesn't know how to reach out anymore. In the past, he would've simply sucker-punched Aomine-kun in the gut until the taller boy got over himself, but now Tetsuya doesn't dare to. What if Aomine-kun simply isn't interested in rebuilding their friendship? What if he rejects Tetsuya again, breaks his heart all over again?

Tetsuya doesn't want to disrupt the delicate balance of entente between them: so he doesn't.

Murasakibara-kun and Akashi-kun both live far away now. They've both returned to their former selves, somewhat – Akashi-kun managed to do so completely on his own, and made Tetsuya feel all the more worthless for it – but they haven't tried to contact him at all. Akashi-kun took his defeat gracefully, and hasn't spoken to Tetsuya since; Murasakibara-kun took his not-so-gracefully, but hasn't even texted him once, either.

Midorima-kun and Kise-kun, for their part, are the same as back then, except that there's a new distance between them and Tetsuya that can only come with being on opposing – rival – teams instead of being teammates. Do they still care about him? Yes, obviously – even Midorima-kun. But again, it's not the same. He's no longer one of their best friends, not even close to it, and whatever ability, through long practice, they once gained in reading Tetsuya's non-expressions, it's obviously long gone now, because Tetsuya doesn't even try very hard to hide the emptiness in his eyes when they meet, anymore.

Tetsuya has won. But once again, through victory, he has gained nothing.

Tetsuya is torn away from his reverie when a basketball whizzes past him at breakneck speed, a handful of centimeters away from his nose. His head jerks up and he stares straight into Kagami-kun's eyes, finding them filled with concern at his uncommon lack of attention, and responds to the obvious _You alright?_ with what he hopes can pass for a reassuring smile.

That's right; they're in the middle of practice. Kantoku graciously awarded them three days of rest after that grueling, seemingly interminable match against the Emperor of Creation, and then went right back to working them to the bone, insisting that they not get used to "resting on your laurels just because you won once – I won't have any big-headed slackers on my team!" If only Aida Riko had served as their coach after Shirogane- _kantoku_ 's temporary retirement back in Teiko, Tetsuya is sure that the Generation of Miracles would have turned out a lot differently.

There he goes again, reminiscing like an old man instead of focusing on the present, Tetsuya mentally chides himself, trying to force his head back into the mini-game the first-years are playing against the _senpai_. Practice has always been a time when Tetsuya could set his worries aside or play them away, and be left at least temporarily with a clear mind. But today, it isn't the same. ( _Nothing ever seems to be anymore_.)

Usually hyperaware of his surroundings so as to employ his misdirection to the fullest, Tetsuya is full of holes today. He's not even half as stealthy as he could be, his passes are ever-so-slightly imperfect compared to his usual standard, and he's even messed up a steal or two because he didn't manage to make himself invisible enough to pull it off. His teammates' worry for him is written all over their faces, but Tetsuya's thoughts are turned too far inward for him to really register it…nor does he notice the sound of the gym's main door opening, at least until an achingly familiar deep, lilting voice calls out:

"Yo! I'm looking for Kuroko Tetsuya. He there?"

Slowly, so slowly it feels like he's wading through molasses, Tetsuya turns around. And there **he** is.

* * *

Kagami Taiga has long since gotten used to his partner's emotionless countenance, unshakable save for rare occasions such as winning a particularly challenging match or scaring Taiga with the horrible, slobbering hell-beast his team calls _Nigou_. It used to bother him, the way that Kuroko can go about life, experiencing sadness, happiness, anger, without more than the occasional, minute twitch of a facial muscle to denote his changing emotions – but eventually Taiga came to accept it as the norm, and regard instances when Kuroko _isn't_ completely inscrutable as unusual, instead.

Since they won the Winter Cup, instead of looking like he's walking on air as the rest of Seirin do (Taiga himself, admittedly, is no exception), Kuroko has been more blank-faced than ever, which Taiga has learned to interpret as a pretty obvious clue that his Shadow feeling something more _strongly_ than ever.

What that _something_ might be, Taiga has no clue, but judging from the passing specialist's constant state of distraction and the hazy, lost look in his too-blue eyes, Taiga doubts he's feeling particularly happy or victorious. Taiga has tried several times over the past few days to get his partner to 'fess up as to what's bothering him – honestly, he doesn't want to have to wait almost a full goddamn _year_ to get the truth of what's bothering Kuroko out of him, like with that Ogiwara fiasco – but he's pretty sure Kuroko hasn't even _noticed_ , that's how out of it he is.

In fact, he's willing to wager that Kuroko, who was once able to tease Taiga about poor table manners after spotting the near-invisible splotches of ketchup that were clinging to the underside of Taiga's sleeve after a bout of Maji burger binge-eating, didn't notice Taiga trying to shake him down for answers even once.

So when the guy who barges into their gym manages to catch and retain Kuroko's complete attention with a single, nonchalantly spoken sentence when even Kantoku has had trouble doing so lately, Taiga is shocked and wary enough that, for once, he completely abandons the practice match he'd been throwing his all into in favor of concentrating on something non-sports-related.

The newcomer seems pretty ordinary, all things considered. Tall, but shorter than Taiga, with the lean but powerful build of a fellow basketball player, he's clad in a thick coat and scarf in deference to the icy winter weather, all in shades of black and dark blue save for the rainbow-striped sweatband around his right wrist, a lone splotch of color in an otherwise dark canvas. He's got sleek black hair that's parted messily on the side, a handsome face adorned with a wry sort of smirk, and sharp, slanted gray eyes that, despite his previous enquiry, are already trained unerringly on the Shadow standing to Taiga's right.

Normally, Taiga would be impressed by that – he had thought that Takao and Akashi, with their respective brands of freakishly powerful eyesight, were the only ones that could spot Kuroko so effortlessly – but right now, catching sight of the usually near-invisible player really isn't difficult: Kuroko looks more like an ice statue than ever, still and unmoving from head to toe, his eyes wide but his face otherwise deadpan as ever as he stares back at the newcomer. His body language is no more readable than that of an inanimate object, but the phantom is radiating such pure unadulterated shock that, for once, he's like an open book.

And then the gray-eyed stranger takes a step forward in the Shadow's direction, and Kuroko **changes**.

It's like, this whole time, there was a thin layer of frost over Kuroko's face, keeping his features glacial and inert; and now that ice is thawing right before their eyes. The resulting look on Kuroko's face still wouldn't win any prizes for _Most apprehensible expression ever_ , but it's warmer, less remote than it's ever been since Taiga's met him, which admittedly creeps Taiga out for almost a whole minute – but not nearly as much as it does when Kuroko starts freaking _crying_.

You could hear a pin drop in the silence that engulfs the entire gym as Seirin's basketball team stop to gape at their phantom player. Kantoku and Captain, always acting as official mama bear and papa bear of the team, started emitting murderous vibes the moment the first tear escaped Kuroko's watery eyes, but they're still standing by and waiting for this scene to play out, like they're all watching a particularly gripping drama.

Kuroko is clearly trying to hold back his tears, but isn't having much luck – his lips are trembling so much that they can't hold the smile he's trying to force them into, his chin is wobbling and, most obvious of all, his huge blue eyes are brimming with fat, salty tears, the first few of which have already streaked burning paths down the Shadow's noticeably flushed cheeks.

"Ah, Shuuzo-san!" Kuroko says, and there's so much fake cheer infused in his voice that Taiga almost doesn't realize that he just heard Kuroko _call someone by their first name_ : he has to hold back the wild urge to trot over to the gym's doors and check the sky for flying pigs. "I didn't know you were coming back to Japan, I would've told Kaa-san—"

"Kuroko."

Kuroko's mouth shuts with a click, and his whole frame gives a single, long shudder with the effort of holding back his sobs. Taiga sees his Shadow's normally strong, steady hands bunched into shaking fists, and begins seriously considering decking this interloper a good one for causing his partner such distress – but said interloper's next words stop him in his tracks.

"Kuroko, Tatsuya told me everything."

Tatsuya? They can't be talking about Taiga's older brother, can they? Judging from the lightning-quick flick of Kuroko's eyes, to Taiga's shocked/angry face and then back to 'Shuuzo-san's' stern one, they are, but what could Kuroko possibly have been hiding from this 'Shuuzo-san' that _Tatsuya_ , of all people, would know about?

"Ah…" And now Taiga has the privilege of seeing Kuroko Tetsuya at an utter loss for words, for the first time in his life. The completely _miserable_ look Kuroko's wearing, however, makes it seem less like a memorable occasion, and more like something Taiga never, ever wants to see again.

"Why didn't you tell me?" says 'Shuuzo-san', plainly, with a forbidding tilt to his mouth that doesn't waver even in the face of Kuroko looking like a kicked puppy (it's affecting even _Taiga_ , who hates dogs with a passion, so how can the intruder be hit with it full-force and remain unmoved?).

And that seems to be the straw that breaks the camel's back.

Kuroko releases a single gasping, breathless sob and crumples in on himself, shoulders hunched, back bowed – he looks smaller than he's ever been. Tears are coursing freely down his face now, and he's even snotting a little, but the world is unfair enough that Kuroko is actually a pretty crier, so he ends up looking tragic instead of just gross. He's using his fists to try and dash away his tears, like a child, and damn if it doesn't make Taiga want to go and _cuddle_ the hell out of Nigou just in hopes that his Shadow would smile again.

The dark-haired intruder, though, just stands back and watches Kuroko's breakdown, some unreadable emotion flashing in his gray eyes.

" _Shuuzo-san_ …" Kuroko repeats in a hushed, choked whimper, his voice so thick with tears that the single word is barely unintelligible, and the sound of it breaks Taiga's goddamned heart.

And, showing that he _does_ possess one of those (a heart, that is) as well after all, 'Shuuzo-san' finally steps forward to deal with the mess he's made of Kagami's partner.

* * *

In all the time he's known him, Shuuzo has _never_ seen Tetsuya like this.

The one time Shirogane- _kantoku_ , a sadistic prankster at heart, had forced them all to watch a whole season of a particularly weepy period dramaduring a training camp, Tetsuya's had been the only dry eyes in the room by the time they finished the season finale (not even Akashi had remained unmoved during that one scene with the retainer dying in his distraught Lord's arms). As a result of their aching man-prides, a few of the first-stringers had tried to start up a bet as to who could get the smallest and weakest-looking regular to cry in turn – only to be brutally shut down by the entire Generation of Miracles, and Shuuzo himself, when they had caught wind of these upstarts' intentions.

After all, if there was one thing none of Kuroko Tetsuya's admirers have ever wanted to see, it would be the phantom's crying face; and Shuuzo always thought that it was one sight he wouldn't ever be unlucky enough to be presented with. After all, Tetsuya was the guy who regularly dished out punches brutal enough to make _Aomine_ double over and groan, who took all the criticism jealous second- and third-stringers threw at him without even appearing to hear it, who always fearlessly stepped in to defend victims of bullying even if the bullies in question were sumo team members thrice his weight.

Tetsuya is the definition of "a heart made fullmetal": he takes care of his problems himself, and he does it well; he never shows the strain that living up to others' expectations causes him, facing each new day with a calm countenance, a ready fist and an open, willing mind. He is, hands down, the strongest person Shuuzo knows, which is just one of the many reasons why Shuuzo's crazy about him.

The Tetsuya standing before him right now is so different, Shuuzo can hardly recognize him. That slump to his shoulders, the way he can't quite meet Shuuzo's eyes even as he keeps his face tilted upward, as if in supplication to a higher being…

Who did this to Tetsuya? Who _dared_ to hurt, to damage, to _**break**_ Kuroko Tetsuya?

( _Actually, Shuuzo knows_ exactly _who, but he prefers not to acknowledge this. The memory of Aomine accidentally breaking the brand new flat-screen TV the school had purchased for the purpose of viewing opponents' prior matches, with a stray basketball during Shuuzo's third year, and of Shuuzo himself resignedly grumbling at the sheepish tanned boy, "_ This is why we can't have nice things _," always ends up coming to mind and making Shuuzo see red_.)

Those are the thoughts that run through Shuuzo's mind as he, for the first time in two whole years, gathers Tetsuya up into a tight embrace.

Instantly, Tetsuya's arms move to encircle his waist like steel bands, his hands bunching the fabric of Shuuzo's coat together so tightly that Shuuzo is sure it will result in deep creases, but the ex-captain of Teiko can't bring himself to give a damn. Tetsuya, despite looking like a winter sprite given human form, has always run at a pretty high temperature: his warmth quickly soaks through the still-chilled fabric of Shuuzo's outer clothing and seeps into Shuuzo's heart. He smells like a Christmas holiday in the mountains, as usual, soothing Shuuzo's own turbulent emotions effortlessly.

Tetsuya's taller than Shuuzo remembers, the top of his blue head fitting snugly under Shuuzo's chin when that of second-year Teiko student Tetsuya wouldn't have reached even his shoulder – but Shuuzo doesn't get to ponder on that for long, because he can feel Tetsuya's tears soaking into the collar of his turtleneck, feel the way he's shaking against Shuuzo's chest, nearly stepping on Shuuzo's feet in his haste to get as close as physically possible to Shuuzo, as if Tetsuya is hoping to forcibly fuse the two of them together so that they'll never be apart again (not something Shuuzo would be particularly opposed to, if he were to be completely honest).

"I didn't know what to do," Tetsuya chokes out miserably into Shuuzo's neck, sounding wretched and ashamed at asking (however indirectly) for help from Shuuzo, even in his obviously more-than-fragile condition, and Shuuzo feels another surge of anger – this time, at himself, for allowing himself to ignore Tetsuya's careful deflections and verbal misdirection long enough to deprive Tetsuya of his support so completely as to reduce him to _this_ , this sniveling wreck of his former self.

"I'm sorry," Tetsuya goes on, clinging to Shuuzo even more frantically and prompting the ex-captain to realize that he's been silent for too long. "I tried—so hard. They—they didn't—they wouldn't listen, wouldn't listen to me. Left me. I didn't—want to worry—Shuuzo-san, so I didn't—say anything. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry—"

Tetsuya's crying in earnest now, heaving huge, gasping sobs in his desperation to keep Shuuzo from "leaving him" as well, and it's obvious from the wide-eyed, powerless expressions on the faces of Tetsuya's new teammates that they've never seen him like this, either.

That is both reassuring and worrying: on the one hand, it means that this breakdown is clearly a new thing and not something Tetsuya frequently goes through – but on the other, it means that this is something Tetsuya has been bottling up for probably almost a full _two years_ now. Shuuzo imagines Tetsuya going about his life for twenty-four months, remaining as perfectly polite and blank-faced as usual on the outside even as his heart broke little by little under the pressure of keeping his raging emotions in check…and feels his hands twitch with the desire to wrap around someone, _anyone's_ neck (preferably Akashi's or Aomine's, but Shuuzo's not feeling too picky at the moment) and slowly choke the life out of them for what they did to Tetsuya.

But right now, Tetsuya needs him more than Shuuzo needs to go bash in the faces of those who hurt him. So he lets his left hand drop down to the curve of Tetsuya's back, pressing the slighter boy even more tightly against him, and uses his left hand to tip Tetsuya's chin upward – and kisses him.

Shocked exclamations – some of them sounding distinctly angry – ring out all around the reunited lovers, but Shuuzo pays them no mind, concentrating instead on pushing all the feelings he can into their kiss.

Tetsuya's body feels like stone against his own, all bone and muscle without an inch of give, but so much warmer than the ice Tetsuya's face often seems carved from. _I'll forgive you because you obviously need it, but you have committed no crime to be forgiven for._

Tetsuya's sky-colored hair is as soft as ever, even sweat-damp as it is from arduous basketball training. _I loved you then, and I love you still_.

Tetsuya's lips are cold and trembling and wet, and yes, that salty taste is most definitely from the snotty tears that are dripping from Tetsuya's nose; Shuuzo, sappily enough, is so happy to be kissing Tetsuya again that he barely even spares it a thought _. I missed you so goddamned much._

The kiss goes on and on and _on_ , just his and Tetsuya's mouths moving together in familiar-yet-strange movements until Tetsuya stops shaking and sobbing, until his hold on Shuuzo loosens and he stiffens slightly in Shuuzo's arms upon hearing one of his new teammates clear his throat uneasily somewhere to their left. Still, he doesn't let go, continuing to heave trembling breaths against Shuuzo's lips until he's certain that he's regained his usual poker face – and even then, he still doesn't step away for a good few minutes more.

Eventually, Tetsuya calms down, though, and manages to express his own silent message: his hand slides up to cup Shuuzo's face with aching tenderness, as always, even as the fingers of the other dig into shoulder like a set of talons. _Never leave me again_.

* * *

Tetsuya doesn't think the Seirin basketball team, for as long as he's known them, has ever managed to remain completely and unanimously silent for more than five minutes at a time. They seem to be making a valiant effort at beating past records now, though.

The _yakiniku_ restaurant they all relocated to after Tetsuya managed to get his mortifying emotional outburst out of control, is busy at this time of the day, full of the clients' and staff's jovial chatter, the sounds of wooden chopsticks impacting with ceramic dishware and the appetizing sizzling of grilled meat – but the table Seirin have claimed for themselves is as quiet as the grave. Both coach and players' eyes are all trained on Kuroko and the person he's attached himself to like a particularly affectionate burr, and their scrutiny really makes him want to fidget, but he doesn't doubt that his teammates are all ready to jump down his throat at the first sign of weakness, so he performs his usual impression of a rock and waits for someone, anyone to speak up.

Because he's never had a very strong sense of self-preservation, that person turns out to be Shuuzo-san.

"So you guys are Tetsuya's new team, huh…" the once-famous power forward muses as he idly plays with the fingers of Tetsuya's left hand, which he has not once relinquished since he first grabbed hold of it half an hour ago – not that Tetsuya's complaining. "Have you been treating him well?"

If there's one thing that can snap Tetsuya's new teammates out of a state of shock, it's indignation; and, aside from his terrifying female coach (though Shirogane- _kantoku_ was arguably even worse) and _banchou_ -like captain, no-one on Seirin's basketball team has a hotter temper than Kagami-kun.

"And what the hell is that supposed to mean?!" the redhead rages, slamming a palm down onto their table and sending a sheepish look at Kantoku when all the glassware shakes like they're in the middle of an earthquake. "You're the one who came in and made Kuroko cry out of nowhere, dammit!"

Shuuzo-san only makes a show of cleaning out his left ear with his pinky, infuriating Kagami-kun further, and says, "Yeah, that really didn't answer my question, kid."

Kagami-kun's outraged sputtering is ignored as Kantoku promptly takes control of the conversation, offering Shuuzo-san a smile that really isn't a smile at all and would make Shuuzo-san quake in his boots if this wasn't, well, _Shuuzo-san_. "We're taking good care of Kuroko-kun, I assure you. He is a very important part of our team." (Tetsuya carefully hides how pleased he is to hear these words, but Shuuzo-san throws him a knowing glance anyway.) "Now…'Shuuzo-san', I was wondering – who exactly are _you_ to our Kuroko-kun?"

The sheer menace she is exuding is enough to make Captain, Kiyoshi-senpai and Koganei-senpai pale reflexively; Shuuzo-san, of course, is unfazed. "Ahh? I'm Tetsuya's boyfriend, of course. We've been together for almost four years now. He didn't tell you about me?"

All heads swivel, as one, to zero in on Tetsuya, who is comfortably cuddled up to Shuuzo-san's right side, his head resting in the crook of the other boy's neck (normally, Tetsuya isn't much for public displays of affection, but he hasn't seen Shuuzo-san in person for two long years now, so he's recharging). Tetsuya tries not to shrink back under the weight of their collective gazes, discreetly grinding his heel into Shuuzo-san's foot in retaliation for the not-at-all accidental way his ex-captain just threw him to the wolves, and relishing the resulting wince.

"Is that so? Well then," Kantoku says amiably, before turning to Tetsuya with the eyes of a starving predator confronted with bleeding, limping prey. "You didn't think we'd like to know this, Ku-ro-ko-kyuuuuun? - "

Tetsuya trusts Kantoku's sugar sweet, sing-song tone about as much as he once trusted the benevolent smiles Akashi-kun used to flash just before he assigned an unfortunate Aomine-kun or Kise-kun a tripled practice menu: that is, not at all. The vein pulsing visibly on the female coach's forehead is also a rather obvious hint as to exactly how irritated she's feeling right now.

Tetsuya, for all that he'll never be a star athlete, was also never a sickly child: but he's certainly always looked like one, and isn't shy about taking advantage of this when it suits him. So, knowing that his eyes are no doubt still red and swollen and his cheeks still flushed, he allows a hint of exhaustion to sneak into his words and deadpans, "You never asked."

Kantoku draws her _harisen_ from whatever mysterious dimensional pocket she likes to keep it in, but Tetsuya's minor efforts at acting have obviously paid off, because motherly Mitobe-senpai and brotherly Kiyoshi-senpai are quick to pluck it from her hands and sit her back down, muttering calming words the whole while. Shuuzo-san snorts very softly, his gray eyes glittering with amusement at Tetsuya's ruse, and Tetsuya lets a mischievous smile pull at his lips for a bare second.

Because he isn't completely heartless, Tetsuya condescends to tell them more. "Nijimura Shuuzo-san," he begins, enjoying the way his _senpai_ 's eyes widen in recognition, "was my captain for two years in middle school. He became my boyfriend in my first year, but he had to leave Japan to attend high school in America, where his family moved for his father's health. Yes, Kagami-kun, that is how he came to know Himuro-san. And indeed, Koganei-senpai, until today I hadn't seen Shuuzo-san in person since the end of my second year at Teiko."

Both of his teammates close their mouths, Koganei-senpai with a little grin and Kagami-kun with a slightly mutinous look. There is another – this, time, thankfully, short – silence as everyone ponders these few tidbits of information, before Kiyoshi-senpai, not so thankfully, decides to get back to the subject at hand, the question Tetsuya had deliberately sidestepped.

"It's great that you have someone like that, Kuroko," Kiyoshi-senpai says with one of his broad, warm smiles, and Tetsuya can tell that he means it, which just makes what the center says next even more painful. "But really – why didn't you tell us? You didn't think we'd shun you over something like this, did you?"

Tetsuya wonders how he should reply to that. Of course he knows that, should he have told them, his teammates would have remained as relentlessly good-natured and tolerant as they always are. His avoidance of the subject of Shuuzo-san's entire existence over the past year had nothing to do with most Japanese over-thirty-year-olds' intolerance of homosexuality, and everything to do with Tetsuya feeling so unspeakably guilty over constantly lying to Shuuzo-san about the _Kiseki no Sedai_ 's state of mental health, as well as his own, that he'd preferred not to think of the boyfriend he missed so much he couldn't breathe, whom he was betraying more and more each day, unless it was absolutely unavoidable.

Of course, Tetsuya already made more than enough of a spectacle of himself earlier, so he's not about to get into a long, emotional discussion about misplaced guilt and denial and keeping needless secrets at a _yakiniku_ restaurant after a long day of practice. But his coach and senpai – and even his fellow first-years, actually – can be as relentless as Nigou with a bone when they're curious about something, so Tetsuya sets the gears of his brain spinning as he gropes for a plausible excuse to keep his silence—

—Only for the door to the small eatery to be pushed to the side with a cheerful rattle, a familiar lively voice ringing out and calling for a, "Table for two, Occhan! Oh! Isn't that Seirin?"

And then, a moment later: "Eeeehh?! NIJIMURA-SENPAI?!"

* * *

 **If anyone was wondering who just made a loud entrance, it was Kise.**

 **What I had planned to include in this one-shot after that:  
** **-** **Shuuzo gives the MiraGen, especially Akashi who admired him, a good talking-to.  
** **-** **The MiraGen all mend their tattered bonds.  
** **-** **KagaKuro brOTP.  
** **-** **Kuroko returns to his former dominatrix (lol) self and, like Shuuzo, soon has the GoM back to shaking in their boots at the mere sight of him.  
** **-** **Shuuzo goes back to America after a month, but he and Tetsuya make plans to eventually attend college together in Japan.**


	6. KnB - childhood-friends AkaKuro

**This was written because I was craving an AkaKuro childhood friends AU, and wanted to cater to my two following headcanons: that, as we saw in his childhood pics in season 3's opening, Kuroko was once actually a cheerful kid with a ready smile; and that Akashi was once an adorable, stiff little Bocchan who turned into a crybaby whenever the pressure of being the Akashi heir started to get to him.  
** **(I won't lie, that crybaby!Akashi idea actually sprouted in my mind after I watched a** **Magi** **clip featuring a certain Kou prince's breakdown in Zagan's Dungeon.)**

 **Pairing(s): eventual AkaKuro**

 **Word count: 2381**

 **Warning(s): so much fluff, you'd better plan for a visit to the dentist's.**

* * *

 _They met so long ago that neither of them can remember when exactly they first became friends._

 _All either of them knows is that they weren't actually together from their birth onwards, but it sure_ feels _like it most of the time; it's nearly impossible for them to recall any moments in their young lives when they weren't best friends._

 _If they try very hard to dredge up the memory of their first meeting, though, both of them can come up with a few very blurred mental images that, if put together, can form a fairly clear picture of the goings-on of their first meeting._

* * *

It was a fine spring morning, Seijuurou will say, while Tetsuya is absolutely certain that it was actually early summer. What they both agree on, though, is that it was a beautiful sunny day, when both boys were around three years old. Their mothers had taken their respective sons to the local park for a bit of fresh air and to enjoy the wonderful weather; and, while little Tetsuya greatly enjoyed the outdoors and was thrilled with this turn of events, little Seijuurou was not of the same mind.

Seijuurou was playing alone in the sandbox, steadfastly ignoring the group of children who were noisily chasing each other around by the nearby swing set. Even at that age, the Akashi heir wasn't the most sociable of boys, and was perfectly happy to keep his own company as a rather elaborate sandcastle blossomed to life under his careful, chubby hands. Tetsuya, though, was trying desperately to keep up with the older kids whom he had hoped to join in their game of tag, and was failing rather miserably.

It was quite hard to feel at all included in such a game when whoever was currently "It" forgot his very existence so completely that they didn't even _try_ to chase him, and to top it all off Tetsuya was at least two years younger than any of the other children who were taking part in the game, and had quite the weak constitution besides. Eventually, Tetsuya got bored of running around and exhausting himself when no-one was trying to catch him anyway, and wandered off on his own, none of the other kids noticing his absence any more than they had, his presence.

Feeling disheartened and a bit lonely, Tetsuya looked around the park for other possible playmates, his big blue eyes lighting up when they set their sights on a red-haired boy who was playing on his own – Tetsuya had learned long ago that it was even _more_ difficult to get anyone to see him when he was in the middle of a crowd; so, since it would be just the two of them, maybe this boy would different?

Seijuurou looked up when he heard the clumsy footsteps nearing him, frowning slightly at the little blue-haired boy who was toddling eagerly in his direction. "What do you want?" he asked in a none-too-friendly manner, his diction already perfect despite his young age. For reasons Seijuurou couldn't begin to parse through, the other boy looked as joyful as he might've if Seijuurou had welcomed him with open arms instead, and Seijuurou had to admit that it was an odd but not at all unpleasant experience to be smiled at so sunnily.

Tetsuya, for his part, was walking on air. This boy had noticed him _before_ he even had to verbally announce his presence, and hadn't jumped five feet in the air at Tetsuya's "sudden appearance" (he'd been there all along, thank you very much!) in the way that even adults often did! That settled it: he definitely wanted to become this boy's friend, Tetsuya thought delightedly as he settled down by the red-haired child's side to watch his progress with the sandcastle.

Seijuurou remained still for a few more moments, observing his apparent new companion warily and waiting for him to start with the string of annoying, inarticulate, high-pitched chatter that most of his peers seemed prone to lapsing into whenever they were in each other's company. This blue-haired boy seemed content to remain silent, though, so Seijuurou went back to his work, soon becoming so immersed with it that he was quite startled when the other boy _did_ finally speak up.

"I'm Kuroko Tetsuya. Whass your name?"

Seijuurou darted a surprised look at the blue-haired boy – Tetsuya – and found said boy staring back at him, eagerly but patiently waiting for a response. "Akashi Seijuurou," Seijuurou replied, more out of habitual politeness when greeting his parents' business associates than any real desire to start up a conversation with his new tagalong.

"Nice to meet you, Sei-chan!" Tetsuya replied with surprising familiarity but equal politeness - Seijuurou was left nonplused by the nickname, but let it go, though he didn't reciprocate with one of his own – and then said nothing more. Both boys eventually fell back into the rhythm of Seijuurou building, and Tetsuya watching intently.

Seijuurou looked over inquisitively when he heard movement by his side after almost an hour of stillness on the blue-haired toddler's part. Tetsuya had apparently decided that he'd observed Seijuurou long enough to pick up the basics of sandcastle building, and was trying his hand at it, himself. He wasn't doing a bad job of it either, Seijuurou observed somewhat enviously – even at his young age the Akashi heir knew that he was a genius in many aspects, but the arts weren't amongst his many talents, whereas Tetsuya seemed to have quite the natural gift in that regard. The blue-haired boy's own castle was nowhere near as elaborate as the more experienced Seijuurou's, but it looked to be shaping up quite well nonetheless.

When Tetsuya started looking a little frustrated after his third failed attempt at making a front gate that didn't cause the entire castle to collapse, Seijuurou found himself reflexively offering advice. Tetsuya looked startled at Seijuurou's consideration towards him, but threw Seijuurou an absolutely dazzling, gap-toothed smile when his castle, after Seijuurou's guidance, held fast even with the news hole in its outer walls. Seijuurou decided then and there that he wanted to be smiled at like that some more; and so it was that both boys tore down their previous creations and started working together on an absolutely palatial edifice in the center of the sandbox instead.

The sun was high in the sky by the time they deemed their work nearly done, and both boys were beginning to get a bit hungry and overheated, but both were so pleased with their newfound companionship that they ignored their respective discomfort – naptime was rapidly approaching, and the two children were beginning to nod off where they sat – and kept working, exchanging a few words occasionally about their favorite books (Tetsuya couldn't read yet, but was slowly teaching himself to) and children's _anime_ series (Seijuurou had never been permitted to pursue such childish hobbies before, but this "Doraemon" sounded interesting).

For Tetsuya, this was utter bliss: getting to spend so much time with someone who didn't forget that he existed halfway through their game and who, though very reserved, seemed to be willing to get to know him. Seijuurou, for his part, thought that this was surprisingly nice: Tetsuya still spoke with a hint of a childish lisp and wasn't quite as advanced as Seijuurou himself was, but was clearly a precocious and rather intelligent child, and his quiet yet cheerful company was soothing.

Their idyllic little world of castle-building was popped like a fragile soap bubble, though, when a group of older children took an interest in them; after all, just because Tetsuya was near-invisible, it didn't mean that Seijuurou was, and it was obvious just by looking at the red-haired boy's clothing that he was even wealthier than most of the families of the kids who frequented the already upscale neighborhood's park.

"Look, guys, there's a little baby over there who's talking to himself!" a rather tall seven-year-old exclaimed when he spotted Seijuurou playing, seemingly alone, in the sandbox, pointing rudely at the little redhead.

"Wow, look at his hair! It's so red – so ugly!" another boy added spitefully as the small trio of older children neared the pair that had temporarily halted their game, pairs of red and blue eyes watching their elders' approach warily and, for Seijuurou's part, with a hint of aggravation.

"Leave us alone," was Seijuurou's unequivocal rejoinder when the older children started coming close enough to possibly cause a real threat if they were to turn violent. He then attempted to go back to his game, Tetsuya sending him worried looks for talking back to kids who clearly hadn't come over for a friendly chat in the first place; but the boy who had first spoken grabbed hold of Seijurou's shoulder and jerked it back so that the red-haired child was forced to face them, sitting on his bottom on the sandy ground, while they loomed over him as menacingly as seven-year-olds could.

"Who's 'us'? There's no-one here but you, stupid!" the third of the older boys jeered, giving Seijuurou a light push that sent him falling onto his back, destroying the sandcastle he and Tetsuya had spent more than two hours working on in the process.

Seijuurou let out a gasp of dismay at seeing all their work ruined, and Tetsuya looked equally distraught, though thankfully he didn't appear to be blaming Seijuurou for being the inadvertent cause of its demolition.

Still, this was the castle that he and Tetsuya had worked on for _so_ long, and Seijuurou was so _frustrated_ , and he was _tired_ and these boys were bigger than him and they were _mean_ , what had he ever done to them, he wasn't the stupid one, _they_ were, why couldn't they just have left him and Tetsuya _alone_ like he told them to—

Seijuurou felt his vision beginning to blur, and despite his best efforts fat, salty tears began to roll down his flushed cheeks, the sight immediately attracting the attention of the junior bullies who pounced on his first sign of weakness. "Look, the little baby's crying now!"

"That's right, dummy, cry like the baby you are—"

"Go away."

Those two simple words, spoken in the quiet, almost airy voice of someone who had to have been right by them by the sound of it but was nowhere to be seen, stopped the three boys in their tracks, their mocking laughter dying in their throats as their heads swiveled around in their search for the interloper.

"Hey, what was that? You don't think that was…"

"That can't be, they don't exist, you silly, my Tou-chan told me so."

"But I definitely heard—"

"I said, _go away_."

This time, the three bullies managed to zero in on the direction the small voice was coming from, and they let out a chorus of surprised screams when a tiny boy seemed to pop into existence when before there had been nothing. The boy had very pale skin, fair sky-blue hair and matching eyes; combined with his pastel yellow hoodie and light gray shorts, his entire being was so faded against the beige backdrop of the sandbox that he looked more incorporeal than human. "I dun like people who are mean to others," Tetsuya said firmly, narrowing his huge blue eyes at them in warning…

And, much to both Tetsuya and Seijuurou's shock, the older boys took _one_ look at him, and then took off running.

"GHOST!" the biggest one shrieked, his smallest friend adding a scream of, "We'll be spirited away!" while the last one simply saved his breath for dashing away as fast as his short legs could carry him.

Tetsuya and Seijuurou stared after them for a short while, dumbfounded, before Seijuurou suddenly realized that he was still crying and hastily turned his face away before Tetsuya could look at him for too long. He'd finally found someone his age who actually didn't seem to mind his standoffishness and wasn't noisy or hyperactive or jealous of Seijuurou's mature demeanor and his family's riches – and now even this boy was probably going to make fun of Seijuurou, too, for being such a crybaby.

He nearly jumped out of his skin when, contrary to all his expectations, a warm palm was pressed to his cheek instead. Before Seijuurou's stunned eyes, small, pudgy fingers carefully wiped way Seijuurou's tears until his face was fully clear of them; Tetsuya didn't appear to even be aware of Seijuurou's astonishment, concentrating fully on his self-appointed task instead, and looking satisfied when he deemed it finished and sat back on his heels.

"There," he declared proudly, "those meanies're gone now. Sei-chan can stop crying."

Seijuurou flushed slightly upon hearing his shamefully childish reaction to a bit of bullying spoken aloud so candidly, but Tetsuya didn't give him a chance to interrupt, raising his hand once more instead, this time to pat Seijuurou on the head, somewhat clumsily but with obvious affection.

"Dun listen to 'em, Sei-chan. Sei-chan is really smart, and his hair is so pretty!" Completely unabashed despite the embarrassing words coming out of his mouth, Tetsuya beamed at Seijuurou and went on, "I like Sei-chan lots! Does Sei-chan like me too?"

Seijuurou, somewhat dazed by another assault of the quiet boy's devastatingly cute smile, thought back to the firm, unflinching look in the eyes of the tiny boy when he'd defended Seijuurou from much older boys without expecting anything in return; recalled the pleasant time he'd spent playing with the boy for an entire morning, Tetsuya's presence soothing and engaging in turns and providing a pleasant, steady warmth by his side; and made his decision.

"I like Tetsuya, too," he declared with the absolute certainty and confidence his father had taught him to always speak with. "Let's be friends."

And Tetsuya grinned back, somehow even brighter than before. "Let's!"

* * *

 _And it is this incident that set the tone for the entire considerable length of their friendship: Seijuurou providing a caring, guiding hand for Tetsuya and making him deliriously happy simply by noticing- and loving him; and Tetsuya willingly following him down any path he chose to tread, returning that love with all his might and always,_ always _saving Seijuurou in the most unexpected ways._

* * *

 **I didn't really have much of a plot in mind after that, save that Akashi and Kuroko would eventually attend Teikou together, and Kuroko would get a bit freaked out when "Bokushi" surfaced in third year but would stick with Akashi and follow him to Rakuzan nonetheless, and that somehow, "Oreshi" would be pulled back to the surface eventually.**

 **I was also toying with the idea of having Kuroko not actually be a part of Teikou's basketball team at all.**

 **But mostly, I wanted to write scenes like this, with Kuroko being to Akashi what Momoi is to Aomine (except that Kuroko would be the more** ** _tsundere_** **of the two):  
** **"Akashi-kun, you forgot your** ** _obento_** **at home this morning."  
** **"Ah, thank you Tetsuya. Now, how many times do I have to tell you to call me like you used to?"  
** **"But in front of others, it's embarrassing...Sei-chan."**


	7. HPKnB crossover - AkaKuro

**This is the HP/KnB crossover I promised a few chapters back, with Harry Potter as Akashi Seijuurou. It's very long compared to the previous fragments, and is one of the few stories that I could see myself picking up again eventually.**

 **Pairing(s): eventual AkaKuro, hints of MidoAka and GoM/Kuro.**

 **Word count: 22567**

 **Warning(s): some profanity, mentions of R-rated matters, some gore and angst. **

* * *

The child was wailing.

It was obvious that the aged house elf was doing her very best to quieten him, rocking the squalling babe in her thin, gnarled arms and singing to him in her reedy voice, but nothing seemed to be working. The child wasn't hungry, tired, in need of changing, or cold; he simply wanted his mother… Though his surroundings may have had something to do with his distress as well.

Child and house elf were stood in a tiny wooden balcony on one of the lowest levels of an enormous amphitheater, every other level of which was occupied by oddly-dressed adults arguing almost louder than the toddler was crying. To the trained eye, it was plain to see that these individuals had been grouped together by nationality, as could be deduced from both their respective choices of clothing and the language they were constantly hollering in – which was barely discernible due to the oddly robotic voices that kept superseding their own and repeating their words, all in British-accented English, for the benefit of the person presiding over the present assembly.

The man in question was seated in his own private little booth, this one made of heavy marble that was veined with gold, several levels above the one filled by the child and its caretaker. He was tall and very thin, but his posture was straight and strong despite his obviously advanced age. He was clad in robes of rich wine-red velvet that were, incongruously, embroidered with a pattern of tiny skipping dolphins; his long silvery beard was tucked into his matching crimson belt. A pair of small, golden half-moon spectacles rested upon the bridge of his long, crooked nose, but did nothing to obscure the sparks of genius that were visibly twinkling in his bright blue eyes. In his left hand sat an ornate wooden gavel, which he was currently rapping ineffectively against his desk: however, the surprisingly loud, gong-like sounds that the repeated impacts caused did absolutely nothing to halt his fellow councilmen's increasingly ferocious bickering.

The first spell flew, a streak of purple light snaking out of the Finnish representatives' booth and making a Belgian councilman sprout a rather impressive pair of tusks – and Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore decided that he had had _enough_.

"ORDER!" he boomed, the wand pointed at his throat increasing his volume further. "ORDER IN THE COUNCIL! Gentlemen, if you persist in this childishness, this session will be hereby closed until further notice, I can promise you that."

There was a brief silence after that, only broken by the child's still ongoing wails, before the councilmen all subsided with a smattering of sour grumbling, composing themselves as though they hadn't been about to start jinxing each other indiscriminately mere moments ago. Satisfied that they would hold their tongues for at least a few minutes, Albus cleared his throat, cancelled his _**Sonorus**_ – as the Supreme Mugwump's box was already equipped with an inbuilt one – and went on.

"Thank you. I now declare the 758th session of the International Confederation of Wizards, open. My fellow councilmen, may your gold pour free, your magic fly true, and your blood flow everlasting," the venerable wizard intoned, hiding his distaste at the archaic words that sounded far too similar to his recently deceased enemy's doctrine.

The greeting was repeated in a hundred different voices, all in their own language and thus intermixing with the automatic translation charms in a highly unpleasant cacophony. Albus was already used to the din, but there wasn't an ICW session that went by that he _didn't_ regret ever taking on his current position.

"Now, the reason we have all gathered here today is far from a matter of international relevance," Albus began, ignoring the protests that instantly rose from every booth except the one occupied by the English. "However, due to pressure from nearly every nation involved in this council, it appears to have been made into one. The matter of which I speak is, of course, that of choosing young Harry James Potter's new guardians."

At once, a frisson of excitement swept through every foreign representative in the council like a gust of wind through a glade. Orbs all around the amphitheater lit up with red, signifying their respective councilman's desire to speak up; Albus blithely ignored them, instead lacing his fingers together under his bearded chin and darting a compassionate look down at the still-crying toddler being frantically shushed by its elven caretaker.

"I will speak frankly, gentlemen: the United Kingdom undeniably has the strongest claim to him. His parents were both British wizards, and paid for his tuition at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry before he was even born. All of the guardians cited in his parents' will also reside in the United Kingdom. Moreover, he is a scion of the Potter line, with the blood of the Blacks, the Peverells and even, however distantly, the Gryffindors running through his veins.

"Knowing all this, I'm curious to know why you all believe that raising him somewhere else would be beneficial…?"

Murmurs of outrage sounded from every booth in the amphitheater, but in the end it was the voice of the French councilman whose orb, with a flick of Albus's wand, glowed blue, that rang the loudest.

"That is all well and good, Dumbledore, but all of these guardians are unfit to serve as such. Sirius Black is in prison; the Longbottoms are in Saint Mungo's Janus Thickey ward, and unlikely to leave it anytime soon; Dorcas Meadowes has passed on; and Remus Lupin is…far from a fit caretaker," he said diplomatically, though his distaste for weres was obvious in the disgruntled slant of his mouth. "Why, then, would looking for a guardian in a different country be so unreasonable?"

"Lily Evans' family is amply qualified to take Harry in," Albus responded promptly, eyes hard unyielding despite his genial tone.

"Pardon me for asking, but Evans was a muggleborn, was she not?" interjected an Indonesian councilwoman. "I have nothing against the non-magical, but would it truly be wise to trust the safety of your Boy-Who-Lived to muggles?"

"Using Harry's blood relation to his Aunt Petunia, I have full confidence that I could set up more than adequate protection for the dear boy."

"'More than adequate' won't cut it, Dumbledore!" snarled a Columbian representative, slamming a beefy fist onto the table before him in a most unwizardly physical display of irritation. "This is the only recorded survivor of the Killing Curse in _history_ we're talking about! Even setting aside the power the child will undoubtedly grow into, the kid is a national treasure. No, an _international_ treasure! I refuse, you hear me, I _refuse_ to have England monopolize it just like they did Stonehenge, the Death Veil and Excalibur!"

This time, the general chatter that was struck up throughout the amphitheater rang with approval, and the mere sound of it made Albus's blood boil and his ears ring with fury. His magic began to crackle with the scent and heat of oncoming lightning, but his voice, when he spoke next, was as cold as a glacier in the middle of a snowstorm:

"This 'it' you speak of is a child barely a year old. A baby boy named Harry James Potter, who has just been orphaned and nearly lost his life himself, along with his home and family, under extremely traumatic circumstances. I am not thinking of the issue of his guardianship in terms of which country should reap the bragging rights that would come with his residency, but in terms of which family would be most apt to raise him, for the next ten years, in a safe, loving environment."

The Columbian councilman, at least, looked suitably chastised: he had a short temper, but seemed to be one of those rare politicians whose heart hadn't been completely seduced away from him by gold and power. Many other councilmen and -women still looked mutinous, however, and indeed a stern-looking German witch was the next to speak up, her disapproval of Albus's sentimentalism obvious in the wrinkling of her sharp little nose.

"We all aren't heartless enough that we would give the child an unsuitable home, Supreme Mugwump, were he to become a resident of our respective lands. The babe's only ties to England, at this point, are his name, and muggle blood-relations that cannot protect him. We have all heard of Death Eaters earning their freedom on either technicalities or outright bribery; who's to say that they won't come after their Master's vanquisher for revenge? Who's to say that your wards would be strong enough to save the boy?"

Albus had no wish whatsoever to explain the intricacies of Lily's blood-sacrifice and its miraculous results to a full ICW council, especially when a freshly exonerated Lucius Malfoy was sitting in the so-far silent English councilmen's booth with a barely repressed smirk on his lips and probably filing away every scrap of information he heard about little Harry in the eventuality of his Master's return… So instead, knowing full well that he would come off as stubborn and unreasonable for it, but also well-aware that he probably still possessed enough political and magical clout to get what he wanted through sheer bullheadedness, Albus simply replied: "Harry must be sent to his maternal Aunt and Uncle's home; it will be the safest place in the world for him."

The next six hours were spent in a never ending argument between both the Supreme Mugwump and his fellow councilmen, and every country each councilman represented and every one they didn't. Albus found himself wistfully thinking that this all could have been avoided, if only he hadn't received the ICW's summons before Hagrid, astride Sirius Black's flying motorcycle, had been able to reach him. Albus would've left the child on Number Four Privet Drive's doorstep…well, actually that seemed like a rather terrible idea – why so? Well, wild animals, the cold, and a toddler that could, well, toddle straight into the path of a speeding car, came to mind – and Albus could almost _feel_ Lily's emerald-green glare burning a hole into him from the Afterlife at the mere thought, so…

Well, at any rate Albus could've left Harry in Petunia Dursley's loving arms and gone on his way, the problem of Harry's guardianship done and dealt with before the International magical community could even start squabbling over it. Instead, here Albus was, craving sweets with a passion and sorely wishing he'd thought to slip a vial of headache-curing potion into one of his robe pockets _before_ he'd set off for hours of listening to irate politicians scream at him and at each other while infuriatingly calm, monotonous voices parroted their words in snotty public-school English.

"For the last time," Albus interjected, cutting off a Russian councilwoman's near-screeching tirade mid-sentence; his usually perpetually serene voice was so full of barely suppressed irritation that silence instantly suffused the room, "Harry would be safest living with someone who shares his mother's blood!" Albus would normally never dream of sinking to many of his political opponents' level and trying to convince them to see things his way through his sheer volume, but he hadn't slept a wink since news of James and Lily's deaths had reached his ears nearly forty-nine hours ago, and it had only been mere minutes since Harry, the boy he'd felt a great deal of grandfatherly affection for ever since the first time Lily had allowed him to hold the then months-old babe at an Order meeting, had finally stopped crying and fallen into an exhausted sleep, tear tracks still glistening on the angry red backdrop of his pudgy little cheeks.

Albus was _done_ with this. He wanted to go back to Britain, leave Harry with his Aunt, erect the blood wards as quickly and thoroughly as possible, and then just disapparate off to Hogwarts and collapse straight into his bed. _Minerva will be able to manage on her own for a day or two, surely_ , Albus thought as he absentmindedly flicked his wand at a red-lit globe in the Japanese representatives' booth.

He only realized his mistake when the man he had just allowed to take the floor got to his feet.

Tall, broad-shouldered and possessing an aura more intimidating than even Voldemort or Grindelwald's had ever been, Akashi Masaru cut an impressive figure amongst his comparatively petite countrymen. The kimono-style councilman's robes he wore, though they were the same black as all his fellow ICW representatives', only highlighted the strength of his frame, and were of such fine cut and make that anyone else might've appeared overdressed; but on Akashi it simply looked as though asking him to dress down would've been a mortal insult. His hair was cut in a short, no-nonsense fashion despite its blazing scarlet color, and the matching eyes that were the Akashi House's pride were set in a face that could've been carved by a war god for all its sternness and harsh beauty… And said eyes were trained unerringly on the tiny, slumbering form cradled in an old house elf's spindly arms.

Albus felt a foreboding shiver zing down his spine, but skillfully hid it as he grandly announced, "Councilman Akashi, you have the floor."

It may have seemed as though Albus were doing the man a particular honor by verbally acknowledging his right to speak, but it was really a subtle reminder to all the councilmen and -women that had become mute with awe at the sight of Akashi that, ultimately, Albus, as Chief Mugwump to Akashi's representative, was still the one who held most of the power in the room. Akashi acknowledged the dig with a single, disdainful flick of his eyes, as though Albus were a clever, disobedient dog that had just performed a mildly impressive, if irritating, trick.

"Thank you, Mr. Dumbledore," Akashi said politely (or so a less canny man would believe; Akashi had, in fact, just replied in kind to Albus's disrespect by pointing out Albus's lack of nobility when compared to the Akashi name). The man, clearly knowing how to work a crowd, had deliberately replied in flawless English in order to prevent the activation of the automated translation charm, thus letting his deep, powerful voice echo through the amphitheater in all its unhindered glory.

"If it's only a matter of blood," Akashi went on without further preamble, "then I believe that the Akashi clan holds near-equal claiming rights."

Curious muttering arose from every corner of the amphitheater; Albus was equally surprised, but did not let it show as he calmly replied, "It is entirely possible that Harry is indeed related to the Akashis, however distantly, as nearly all pureblood families have intermingled as some point in their history. However, I was referring to blood relatives on Harry's _mother's_ side—"

"—And so was I," Akashi cut in, so smoothly that even Albus couldn't find it in himself to be offended by the interruption: truly, this man's charisma was something to be feared. "Lily Evans and my wife share a grandfather, Kamiya Yuuya, who moved to England after divorcing his first wife, Kamiya Manami née Koizumi, and married Helen Miller; Helen Miller gave him a daughter, Susan Kamiya, who went on to marry Philip Evans and give birth to Petunia Dursley née Evans and Lily Potter née Evans, mother of Harry James Potter.

"In short, my wife Akashi Kimiko née Kamiya's grandfather was Harry James Potter's great-grandfather."

After processing this bold declaration, most of the councilmen in the room looked like they were trying to parse out a highly complex equation without having the option of writing it out; so Akashi, with a look of subtle contempt, pulled a scroll out of his robes and unrolled it on the short desk provided to each councilman, tapping it once with his wand – a short, very rigid-looking dark thing – so as to prompt the appearance of a copy of its contents before each representative.

The document provided was obviously a family tree, and judging from the official seal stamped on the right-hand top corner of the scroll's insides, it had been created and validated by the inheritance offices of Gintama-ya, the largest _maneki-neko_ bank in the Japanese archipelago. Here, laid out clearly for all to see, was an easily readable summary of Harry Potter and Akashi Kimiko's blood-relation; and no-one present would dare infer that the family tree had been falsified, as tremendous financial ill-luck had been known to follow those who openly expressed distrust in the bank's monetary and notarial expertise.

Regardless, Albus wasn't about to fold until he had gotten his way. "Councilman Akashi, this certainly proves that you have a claim, to some degree, to Harry Potter's guardianship. However, given that Petunia Dursley is Harry's aunt whereas your wife is his second cousin once removed, I don't believe that the Akashi can be said to hold _equal_ claiming rights."

"'Near-equal' were my exact words, I believe, Mr. Dumbledore. Moreover, not once have you mentioned how close, exactly, the bonds of blood between Harry and his prospective guardian would have to be in order to ensure his protection – nor, incidentally, _how_ they would do so, but let us set that matter aside from the time being."

Albus _wanted_ to like Akashi Masaru: the wizard was not, perhaps, the kindest of men, but he was intelligent and wise and honorable down to the core, not to mention he was the only one so far, besides Albus himself, to have referred to Harry as a young person, a human being, rather than a prize to be fought over. The way Akashi kept deftly and quietly sowing doubt regarding Albus's methods in their fellow councilmen's minds, however, was more than a little infuriating.

Heedless to the Supreme Mugwump's mounting aggravation, Akashi went on. "If Harry were to become the Akashi clan's ward, not only would he possess this apparent protection lent to him by residing with one of his blood; he would also be very far away from any English Dark supporters who might try and hunt him down for revenge. It is common knowledge that my clan's place of residence is both unplottable and protected by some of the oldest, strongest wards in Asia.

"We of the Akashi would be more than able to provide for Harry in every way possible, and my wife would love him as though he were her own – which he could be, as the blood they share would most likely allow, through both Kimiko and myself, for full blood-adoption into the Akashi family."

And that was all it took for utter pandemonium to descend over the entire International Confederation of Wizards.

* * *

As she gazed down at the boy who was cradled in her arms and staring curiously up at her with eyes she had only ever seen on her beloved husband before, Akashi Kimiko felt like the happiest woman in the world.

She and Masaru had both given up on having children of their own after their fourth year of marriage and Kimiko's fifth miscarriage. Her body was simply not capable of sustaining an infant's life, and though the Healers' final diagnosis had left her heartbroken and sobbing wretchedly into her pillow for a good few months while Masaru watched on helplessly, she had eventually decided that there was nothing for it: they could always adopt if she truly wanted a child of her own, while a full-blooded Akashi, perhaps one of Masaru's distant cousins' children, would be left to inherit headship of the Akashi clan. It wouldn't be the perfect family she had always envisioned – one or two children, who were perfect mixes of her husband and herself, for her to love and spoil to her heart's content – but Kimiko had dealt with disappointment before, and though she wasn't particularly strong magically, she had always prided herself on being at least strong- _willed_.

And then Masaru had brought a little boy home.

Harry James Potter, her own distant cousin and a name that would be written in every history book for the rest of eternity. Far more importantly, though, a beautiful child who would be her _son_ , hers and Masaru's son, who would be _hers_. She had a **son**. And soon, once Masaru got her explicit consent – the silly man: as if she could've ever passed up such an opportunity – she had a _true_ , full-blooded son.

It had been a long process: slowly feeding little Harry small amounts of a potion containing hers and Masaru's blood (along with several ridiculously costly ingredients such as ground _Kirin's_ horn and jellied _hou-ou_ tongues) over the course of three months, culminating on January thirty-first's full moon in a long, complex ritual that had granted Harry permanent access to all Akashi family magicks, and had altered both his body and his magic in such a way that he was now truly, undeniably a scion of the Akashi House. Or rather, its heir: Akashi Seijuurou.

(Kimiko had wanted to call him Yuu, gentleness, both in hopes that his character would later match his name and to thank Yuuya-ojiisama for, however unknowingly, giving Kimiko a chance at the family she had always wanted. But in the end, she had bowed to her husband's wishes; though her reservations towards her son's name ("perfect subjugation", _really_ now) had never quite vanished.)

"Sei-chan," she whispered now to the child she held in her tight embrace, all the love in the world shining from her teary eyes. "I love you, I love you _so_ much. You are so precious, Sei-chan. So very precious…"

Upon being fully blood-adopted, Harry's – now Seijuurou's – physical appearance had changed to match his new parents', which the Healers had assured them was perfectly normal for a particularly Gifted child having undergone this ritual. Now, only a few of the physical traits he had been born with remained, namely the perpetually messy quality of his hair and the narrow, European contours of his face. Whereas before he had favored his birth father almost exclusively if not for his striking emerald-green eyes, he now resembled Kimiko, his mother, far more than Masaru: he had gained smooth, almost unnaturally symmetrical features as well as very fair skin from her, while his hair and eyes were the same fiery scarlet color as her husband's; the sharp, slanted shape of said eyes was all Masaru as well.

He was beautiful, her Sei-chan, but she was sure he would be even more breathtaking as the years went by (he would no doubt attract just as many admirers as she had in her own school days, though hopefully he would inherit his now blood-father's intimidating presence so that they would be too afraid to constantly accost him as they had her). In the meantime, she was satisfied…no, she was incredibly happy, joyful, _ecstatic_ to know that, if she, Masaru and Sei-chan were to take a walk down a busy street, passers-by would be instantly able to tell that Sei-chan was their child. _My boy, my baby, my_ _ **son**_. A child of her blood and Masaru's, whom she hadn't carried in her womb but who would take after her and her husband nonetheless and who, in fact, already did.

…But therein lay a problem as well.

"I'll protect you, Sei-chan. Papa will protect you, too," she promised the child who was playing with a lock of her long, dark hair. "You'll be safe. We'll never let anyone or anything hurt you. Never."

The adoption ritual had taken so well that any wizard worth their wand would be able to tell, at a glance, that her Sei-chan was an Akashi; and, though there hadn't exactly been a worldwide announcement of his adoption into the Akashi family, politicians from literally all over the world had been present when a highly disgruntled Albus Dumbledore, under the pressure of both the Clan's might and most other countries' approval of said Clan's claim, had been forced to declare Harry Potter's change of guardianship official and, until further notice, permanent.

If any escaped, exonerated or freshly converted Death Eaters were ever to decide to hunt down the child who had been their Master's downfall, it would only take them a bare second to find out that Harry Potter now resided in Japan. The Akashi estate was warded like a fortress from the grimiest roof shingle of its third garden shed to the richest blade of grass in its grounds, but Sei-chan wouldn't be able to remain hidden away at home forever.

Sei-chan's self-defense classes, as well as the myriad other lessons, both mundane and magical, that would be necessary for Sei-chan to become a worthy heir for the Akashi clan, were scheduled to begin as soon as he turned three years old – once he acquired proper mastery of his new mother tongue and better motor control.

Kimiko could tell that Masaru had expected her to fight him on it when he'd informed her of these plans, and to be honest Kimiko wanted to rave at the world, wanted more than anything for her baby to never have to learn how to defend himself, to never be saddled with the expectations and responsibilities that came with being the Akashi heir. But if her baby was to be in danger for merely existing, for somehow ending a threat he could not possibly have comprehended at the price of his childhood, then she didn't want to leave his safety to chance and bodyguards whose loyalty could be bought.

Instead, she would give him all the tools he would need to survive, to _thrive_ even, in a world that would be waiting in the sidelines, ready to pounce on her son and destroy him at his first misstep. Masaru would demand perfection from his son – had already begun to do so, just by assigning him such an auspicious name – and, however regretfully, Kimiko would be doing the same.

 _I will simply_ , Kimiko decided as Sei-chan gave her a big gummy smile, babbling a string of English words she likely wouldn't have understood even had they been pronounced properly, _have to make sure to also support him every step of the way_.

* * *

At the age of six, Akashi Seijuurou was a happy little boy. He had parents who loved him: he often wished that his father had more time to spare for him, but he didn't want to be a bother to the man so he had learned to be satisfied with those rare moments when his father would clap him on the shoulder, telling him without words that he was proud of him. As for his mother, she was beautiful and kind and smelled like sunlight and honey and was always there to hug him in the way that he liked best, with his face buried in her frail shoulder and her fingers gently carding through his hair when he was feeling a little down or scared after a nightmare ( _green light and a woman screaming, he had it at least once a month_ ).

He loved his home as well, big and airy and full of natural light. It was always perfectly clean thanks to the kind servants who called him _Bocchama_ , and the library was always stocked with books that entertained him as much as they furthered his reading skills.

The house's grounds were huge and perfectly kept, too; ever since his horseback riding instructor had deemed him skilled enough to venture outside the paddock, Seijuurou had loved cantering through the entire estate and exploring their every nook and cranny of it astride his young stallion, Yukimaru. His mother never failed to smile as bright as the sun when Seijuurou found pretty wildflowers to bring back to her during his frequent expeditions, and even his stern father would usually smile ever-so-slightly when Seijuurou eagerly recounted such adventures at the dinner table.

His life wasn't all fun and games, though: Seijuurou knew that his parents had high expectations of him, and did his best to live up to them.

He'd been told many times in the past that he was smart for his age, but even so, he wasn't sure why his parents placed such importance on him practicing his fighting skills, be they physical or magical, so hard and so regularly. The one time he'd dredged up the nerve to ask, his father's features had darkened like an oncoming storm while his mother's face had crumpled with distress, and he'd silently resolved not to ask again.

His parents always looked happy and proud of him when he did his best, and always looked disappointed and worried when he slacked off or simply didn't give things his all – for example, whenever he hesitated to hit his martial arts sensei back because he didn't like hurting people. Of these two possible outcomes, he obviously preferred to incur the former.

So what if he didn't always understand his parents' reasoning regarding his education? He was a small child; there were many things in the world he was unaware of. He didn't see that changing anytime soon.

( _If only,_ _ **if only**_ _that hadn't changed. Not just 'anytime soon', but never_.)

* * *

It was on a Wednesday afternoon, as Akashi Seijuurou would recall for the rest of his life, that he found out that he wasn't actually Akashi Seijuurou at all.

His Latin lesson had finished early, owing to the fact that he'd managed to memorize the first three declination tables before his tutor could even tell him to have a look at the very first. His mother was out visiting a friend of hers who had just given birth and was looking to name her godmother – which was a wise decision, in Seijuurou's opinion, as surely there was no-one out there who could possibly be better for the job – and his father was working late, as usual. The head butler, Suzumura, and three of the maids (including Seijuurou's unofficial caretaker, Mayu) were laid up in a bed with a terrible – and obviously contagious – flu, so there was no-one around to follow Seijuurou and keep an eye on him for once.

Now, Seijuurou wasn't a habitually mischievous child, and in fact idolized his father enough that he usually followed all of the man's directives, orders and even suggestions to the letter. But it was a rainy afternoon, so the young Akashi couldn't go on an adventure with Yukimaru, and he was all alone, and he was so, _so_ bored that when, on his quest for entertainment, he passed by his father's office's door, he decided that there wouldn't be any harm in taking a peek at the piles of documents his father was always poring over ( _instead of spending time with Kaa-chan or Seijuurou_ ).

The door swung open easily, as he was the Akashi heir and, unlike the armory or that one closet in his parents' room at the mention of which his mother always blushed, it hadn't been warded specifically against him. The office beyond was…well, not particularly exciting to say the least. The walls were painted the same cream color, the ground made up of the same dark wooden floorboards, as the rest of the house. The only effort that seemed to have gone into sprucing up the place had been limited to a single _Ukiyo-e_ style painting of monks meditating under a waterfall, which hung behind a wide, Western-style desk made of lacquered wood that matched the floor. Seijuurou's eyes lit up with childish excitement at the sight of the spinning, rolling chair that was tucked under it, but in the end the first thing he chose to investigate was the set of shelves that occupied the wall farthest from the door.

Several picture frames occupied the shelves' lowest levels, and Seijuurou could just about make out their contents when he stood on his tiptoes. The first one from the right held a picture of his father as a young teenager, dressed in possibly his first ever business suit and standing beside a stern-looking couple whom Seijuurou assumed to be his late grandparents. In the next one, both of his parents were kneeling side by side on beautifully embroidered _zabuton_ , his father looking darkly handsome in his dark groom's kimono while his mother was both demure and radiant under her pure white _uchikake_. They both appeared quite stoic, his mother for the sake of propriety and his father because that was simply the man's way, but their happiness was evident in the relaxed cast to their features and the glimmers of emotion in their eyes. Reflexively, Seijuurou smiled back at them.

Most of the other pictures, Seijuurou had already seen before in the albums of his baby pictures his mother had lovingly compiled: shots of Seijuurou sleeping in his crib, taking his first steps, learning to read with his father's patient assistance, staring up at Yukimaru with wide, awed eyes or smiling brightly the first time he had tried tofu soup. Seijuurou was touched to see that his father, who always stood stiffly when Seijuurou hugged him goodnight and doled out his affection so sparingly, kept so many pictures of Seijuurou at hand in his private office; but then he noticed a single picture siting innocently between his parents' wedding photo and the first one of Seijuurou himself, and his burst of affectionate happiness was dulled by his surprise and reflexive hurt.

His mother was sitting, looking several years younger and clad in a thick bathrobe whose sky blue color set off her amber eyes perfectly, on the rocking chair so many of his own baby pictures had been taken in; but the toddler she was holding in her arms was noticeably _not_ Seijuurou, if the dark hair and green eyes were any indication. The only similarity between the unknown boy and Seijuurou was the untamable quality of the wild mop they called hair; Seijuurou assumed that this boy was a cousin of his, then. And that would've been fine with him _if_ , in the photo, Kaa-chan hadn't been gazing at the boy in the exact same way that she always looked at _Seijuurou_.

That small but incandescent smile, cheeks flushed with joy, eyes glittering with emotion as love shone from every inch of the beautiful face his own resembled so much: it was an expression that Seijuurou had seen aimed at him a million times before – just this morning, in fact, when she had hugged him good-bye before leaving for the day. Seijuurou had always taken it for granted that that expression, that smile, was reserved solely for him and his father, and yet this black-haired interloper was being graced with it for no reason at all!

Was his Kaa-chan smiling at her friend like that right now, too? At her friend's new baby?

Blinded by possessive fury his childish mind could only barely comprehend, Seijuurou snatched the offending picture frame off the shelf and wasted no time pulling the picture out of it. As expected, words had been scrawled into its back in his father's elegant hand; Seijuurou's English was still rather rudimentary despite his curiously good accent, but he had the Roman alphabet down pat so he didn't have trouble deciphering the short description his father had seen fit to label the photo with: "Kimiko and Harry, 26-12-1981".

Harry. A Western name…not his cousin, then.

So the boy who had tried to steal his mother from him was named Harry. Seijuurou didn't care that he was being childish and clingy and unreasonable, he suddenly hated Harry more than anyone else in the world; he needed, absolutely _needed_ to know that his mother had never seen Harry again after that one photo had been taken. Who was Harry? More importantly, who had he been to his mother? Did his father – who was keeping the boy's picture in his study, too, after all! – love Harry as much as he did Seijuurou, too? Seijuurou _needed_ to know!

He felt his ire and jealousy mounting like the tide, higher and higher until there was a feeling like a balloon popping inside his midriff – and suddenly a thick black binder that had been tucked away on one of the highest shelves levitated itself away from its identical brethren. It popped open on its own, an invisible hand flicking through its contents at breakneck speed until suddenly, two sheaves of thick, cream-colored parchment floated out of the throng and flew over to land right at Seijuurou's feet. Without further ado, the now slightly lighter binder slid back into place.

Seijuurou stared dumbly at the phenomenon for a few moments, his irrational rage slowly draining away as he recognized this as his first ever outburst of accidental magic. Whenever he'd practiced wanded magic under the strict supervision of his tutors in the past, he hadn't been able to really _feel_ his magic working when he cast small spells, but now that he'd experienced this, he thought he might actually be able to, the next time he was tasked with turning his teacher's white _gi_ blue and then back again.

The sight of the sheets of paper rustling slightly, demandingly at his feet reminded him of the _reason_ for this burst of uncontrolled magic, and within seconds he was scooping them off the ground, eyes scanning over the two documents feverishly and slowly widening when his brain finally computed its contents properly. A certificate of adoption for Harry James Potter, signed by Akashi Masaru and Akashi Kimiko; and a near-identical certificate of blood-adoption, including the legal change of Harry James Potter's name to…Akashi…Seijuurou…

When the two papers in his hands suddenly burst into flames in his hands and were reduced to ashes in the blink of an eye, Seijuurou didn't even notice. He was too busy drowning in the emptiness that had suddenly risen from his heart like a tidal wave, tainting every shining, brilliant memory of moments spent with his beloved parents – not his parents at all – with thick, dark fear and doubt and despair.

His heart was racing. His hands were trembling. He couldn't breathe. He was drowning.

He…wasn't…Akashi Seijuurou.

* * *

Kimiko was worried about her son.

He'd always been a hard worker, her Sei-chan, in large part because he was clever enough to see that his being so made his parents happy, and there was nothing Sei-chan loved more than making his parents happy. Really, Kimiko didn't think she could've asked for a better son.

But these days, Seijuurou's work ethic was…excessive. Actually, the simple fact that her seven-year-old son had a _work ethic_ was cause for concern in her opinion; and, though Masaru always tried to alleviate her worries when she brought them up, she could see that he was just as perturbed as she was by their child's sudden change in attitude.

Whereas before, Sei-chan would've done his very best in his lessons but would have still enjoyed his free time to the fullest, it seemed he had now decided that free time was just another opportunity for gaining more knowledge. Over the past year, Kimiko had lost count of the number of times she had stopped by her son's bedroom to wish him goodnight, only to find him dead to the world on his child-sized desk, hands ink-stained and bags under his closed eyes that were so dark they matched the smears of graphite on his face, as he snoozed over stacks of middle school-level math problems. He was such a dedicated student, now, that they'd had to begin switching out his tutors almost every three months to keep up with his constant ascension in the grade levels he was studying at.

If he didn't understand something during his self-study, which happened often as he _was_ a seven-year-old working on assignments children five years his seniors would have trouble with, he didn't wait for his instructors' explanations to move on: instead, he crammed and crammed and looked through as many textbooks as was necessary for him find the necessary answers to overcome the latest academic obstacle, whether it took him an hour or a whole afternoon.

Sei-chan had also taken good manners to a whole new level. His etiquette instructors kept raving about how much of a little gentleman he was; Kimiko was proud of him for that, too, and she knew that he didn't mean anything bad by it, but the fact that Sei-chan had abandoned the more childish forms of address _Kaa-chan_ and _Tou-chan_ to now call Masaru and herself _Otou-sama_ and _Okaa-sama_ …cut deep.

The thing that worried her the most was how out of shape he'd gotten. Sei-chan was still a small child after all, and his new habit of staying up far past his bedtime with his brain on overdrive, eating only when the servants or Kimiko herself nagged him into it, and spending his time almost exclusively indoors, had done her son's health no favors. He was ghostly pale these days, the shadows under his eyes standing out like bruises, and he was far too skinny for his already petite height.

She could tell that he missed his near-daily romps with Yukimaru from the way he would sometimes stare longingly out of his bedroom window, ignoring the piles of workbooks on his desk for a scant few moments; and she'd heard from the stable hands that the young white stallion missed its owner as well… But in the end, it was after Seijuurou collapsed for the third time due to the exertion that his weakened body simply couldn't keep up with anymore, in the middle of one of his martial arts lessons, that Kimiko finally decided she'd let this go on long enough.

" _Mens sana in corpore sano_ , Sei-chan," was the first thing Kimiko said to her son when he came to, blinking blearily and looking vaguely perplexed, in his bed with a cold compress on his brow. "Do you know what that means?"

"A healthy mind in a healthy body," Sei-chan replied automatically – because of course her little workaholic of a son had become near-fluent in Latin long ago – as he sat up against the thick wooden headboard, holding a hand to his forehead to keep the tiny towel from falling into his lap.

"Sei-chan…" Her son looked up at her with concern when he heard the distress in her voice, and it just drove home the fact that she hadn't been much of a mother to him over the past year. Really, _what_ had she been thinking, letting him adopt such unhealthy habits, not speaking up even when she _knew_ he was overworking himself, and letting her seven-year-old child worry about her instead of the other way around? "…Sei-chan, I'm going to teach you how to play a game."

"A game, Okaa-sama?" Sei-chan parroted; he was clearly trying to sound interested, but the way he kept glancing impatiently at his desk like his books were calling him there by siren song was a rather obvious sign that the present conversation didn't have his full attention. "As you wish."

There it was again, that subservience – when a year ago, if he had decided that he'd rather study than spend time with her, he would've frankly told her so. The warmth and love in his eyes was still present whenever he looked at her, but both were dimmed somewhat by the determination, the near-desperation that crept into his gaze increasingly often at the mere mention of her husband and herself.

Kimiko hated this, she really did. What had made her son so sad? Had one the servants said something? Had Masaru? (She didn't care how much she loved that man, if he'd said something typically insensitive and hurt her son's feelings deeply enough to affect him so strongly, he would be in the doghouse until they both turned _fifty_.)

"Yes," Kimiko replied, neither her tone nor her countenance showing a single hint of her inner turmoil. "Your father wouldn't have heard of it, but I used to play it with my classmates almost every day as a child. It's called basketball: a muggle sport."

Just as she had expected, her son's face instantly lit up. Having lived in a magical estate, and having never once left it, for as long as he could remember, Seijuurou had always been endlessly curious of the muggle things mentioned in his myriad textbooks: airplanes, bicycles, rock'n'roll music, clothing that wasn't robes or kimono, and team sports that were completely unlike quidditch or quadpot!

Kimiko was expecting it when her son jumped out of bed and stumbled towards his dresser to find the only pair of muggle trousers he owned, his skinny little body radiating so much eagerness that she could almost see a puppyish tail wagging on his lower back; but it didn't make her any less happy to see a spark sputter back to life in his beautiful Akashi eyes.

Basketball…somehow, she had a feeling that her son would come to love it more than even she ever had.

* * *

"Do you think they'll like me?" Seijuurou asked, tugging at the hem of the simple striped polo Mayu had picked out for him and staring down at his feet and as if he'd never seen anything more fascinating in his life.

Kimiko's heart broke and sang at the same time: with joy that her son was trusting her with a now very rare glimpse of his more vulnerable side, and with sadness that her proud, strong boy was so unused to human contact with anyone who wasn't a part of his family or the household's servants (all of whom he'd known for almost his entire life) that he was actually allowing her to _notice_ his anxiety.

Her little Sei-chan looked absolutely adorable, clad as he was in a short-sleeved polo shirt, dark green cargo shorts and little white sneakers, his black elementary school backpack slung over his skinny shoulders. It was such a drastic change from his usual children's wizarding robes, or the somewhat ratty, oversized clothing he usually donned for their special basketball afternoons, that her fingers were itching to pull out her camera and snap shot after shot of her beautiful, quietly terrified son – but she knew that he would most likely be feeling like a zoo animal for most of the coming day already, due simply to entering the local elementary school two years later than any of his year mates: he didn't need to be stared- and poked- and prodded at by his own mother when his new classmates would no doubt be spending his first day there doing exactly that.

Instead, she knelt down so that they were more or less at eyelevel and placed her hands on his shoulders, looking him straight in the eye and marveling for the millionth time at the perfect mix of Masaru and herself that was her beloved child. "I think," she said clearly and without any sort of doubt in her voice, "that they will all love you. I think you'll make tons of friends, and see how much better it is than being homeschooled all by your lonesome, stuck here at home with your boring old parents. Okay?"

Masaru, behind her, made a disgruntled noise in the back of his throat – he'd always been sensitive to digs about his age, given that he was twelve years the senior of his thirty-one-year-old wife – but when he spoke, his voice was full of gruff reassurance. "You will do the Akashi name proud, Seijuurou."

Sei-chan's frame became as tight as a wound spring instead of relaxing, which Kimiko was sure wasn't what Masaru had been going for; but then a look of resolve overtook Sei-chan's small face and hardened scarlet eyes into twin red diamonds and suddenly Kimiko was absolutely certain that even if his classmates turned out to be exactly as nosy and invasive and overwhelming as she suspected they would be, her son would definitely be fine.

* * *

And indeed, for the first few weeks, Sei-chan was.

He didn't seem to be particularly impressed with the subject matter his class was currently studying, but that was hardly unexpected given that her Sei-chan read heavy treatises on psychoanalysis in their original German recreationally, and could probably teach his classmates elementary-level math better than his _sensei_ could. Still, the novelty of actually going to school hadn't worn off yet, and he came home from school every day nearly bolting out of the car Suzumura drove him there in, in his haste to tell Kimiko all about all the muggle devices he'd had the chance to use today: pencil sharpeners, see-saws, vending machines, staplers.

Kimiko was so blinded by delight at her son's happiness that, in the end, it took her a good, long while to realize that throughout all of his eager recounts of his schooldays, not once had Sei-chan mentioned making any friends.

* * *

Seijuurou was lonely.

He wasn't the most sociable child to have ever walked the earth, and he knew it; but he'd been used, since toddlerhood, to having either his parents – not so much his father, but even Akashi Sr. had had his moments – or the family's servants ready and willing to coddle him anytime he so much as hinted that he wanted company. He'd simply never had reason, or even the _chance_ to feel alone, because he never _had_ been.

Elementary school, he'd come to find, was a different story.

It wasn't like he was disliked. He had a few classmates he got on well enough with, and he had read enough about the human body and its emotional tells that he knew that the reason for the way many of the girls often sported red faces while around him wasn't that they were angry, but most likely that they had puppy-crushes on him. The boys in his year, for their part, either envied him for his grades and athleticism (not to mention his looks and money, but Seijuurou preferred to refrain from sounding so narcissistic, even in his own mind) or wanted to _be_ like him, and thought that the best way to be so would be to act as his hangers-on, going along with everything he said and did in a disturbing display of sycophantism.

Not that any of them would know what sycophantism even _meant_.

Therein laid the main problem he had with his schooling (which he hadn't mentioned to either of his parents, for reasons he'd decided never to consciously acknowledge since That Day two years ago): he may be his year mates' peer when it came to age, but in matters of both raw intelligence and accumulated knowledge, he was so far ahead of them that it wasn't even funny. In fact, interesting muggle devices available for him to play with or not, _nothing_ about school was fun.

He'd always tried to refrain from becoming overconfident about anything, because someone who failed at something would only be more of a laughingstock if he'd proclaimed for all to hear, beforehand, that he would definitely succeed; and, as the heir of the Akashi clan and muggle financial empire, he simply could not afford to ever look so foolish. But it was difficult to remain humble and keep questioning oneself when one was always, _always_ the winner and was always, _always_ right.

Since he had entered elementary school three months ago, not once had he handed in a test that did not earn a perfect mark: the subjects he'd been doing self-study for prior to his enrollment had been far more challenging. In PE, he was always the first to finish, and ace, whatever type of exercise his class was currently doing: compared to the workouts his private physical instructors forced him through every morning, a single soccer match with fellow grade-schoolers was a cinch.

He was always dressed impeccably, always spoke with perfect diction and treated his schoolmates and teachers with flawless manners. The one time a few upper-year boys had tried to bully "the scrawny rich kid", he'd sent them packing with their tails between their legs, a few bruises even the most doting of mothers couldn't possibly file a complaint for, and a healthy new respect of short, skinny redheads that all who had witnessed the event now shared (however small Seijuurou was, he'd been learning martial arts since he was a toddler).

Whatever small obstacles fate tried to throw his way, somehow they had yet to manage to knock him off his pedestal as Number One; but it wasn't much fun standing head and shoulders above the masses if you were the only one up there. So after one particularly long, lonely school day, when he came across a boy around his age dribbling on the public basketball court Seijuurou and his mother usually played in, Seijuurou took a chance.

* * *

Midorima Shintarou was an odd boy, even from a wizard's (that was, Seijuurou's) perspective.

He was tall for his age, and thin; he had hair the darkest shade of grass-green Seijuurou had ever seen, matching eyes, and a face that the Akashi heir could tell would be good-looking a few years down the line, despite Midorima's bespectacled status. He favored clothing that wouldn't have looked out of place on someone's grandfather: starched long-sleeved shirts buttoned up to his throat, knitted vests no matter the weather, and sharply ironed slacks. Seijuurou had at least managed to convince him to ditch his loafers in favor of proper sneakers after the third time he'd managed a successful ankle-break on the taller boy without breaking a sweat, owing mostly to the lack of grip on the smart-looking leather pumps' soles.

Indeed, both of them had somehow fallen into the habit of meeting up thrice a week at that mostly deserted public court and having it out, without either of them acknowledging the regularity and fixed quality of their, for lack of a better word, play-dates. This was due in part to Seijuurou's inexperience in handling children his age, but mostly to one of Midorima's very oddest quirks, though in this case it was more of a personality trait: Midorima Shintarou was what many would call a _tsundere_.

(Seijuurou had taken an embarrassingly long while to realize that the taller boy wasn't actually an unfriendly person who simply liked the challenge Seijuurou posed, and that Midorima's frequent remarks of, "Don't smile at me so much! It's not like we're friends, or anything," meant the exact opposite of what Midorima was actually saying. What an exhausting personality type.)

The green-haired boy had his annoying points, of course, the worst of which being his determination in remaining obsessed with horoscopes (…but Seijuurou had to give the boy some credit for his confidence in himself: Midorima was so convinced that doing so would improve his life, that he was never embarrassed about carrying around even the most ridiculous of "lucky items"). Midorima could be bossy and self-righteous, had a hard time accepting the fact that Seijuurou was simply _better_ than him at practically everything, and his inability to be honest with his feelings got on Seijuurou's nerves sometimes.

Still, Seijuurou couldn't help but like him. Midorima, the son of a successful surgeon and a rather famous historian, was _nearly_ intelligent and knowledgeable enough to keep up with him, and had proven to make for a decent opponent at _shogi_ once Seijuurou had sat him down with a board and explained the rules. Despite his constant denial, Midorima was also actually a kind and thoughtful person who worried about those close to him incessantly (Midorima had been especially verbally abusive that one time Seijuurou had fallen and scraped his knee after a fade-away, but the hands that had placed a Kerosuke band-aid on his wound had been very gentle). All in all, Midorima…was his first friend.

Seijuurou had never thought he would find someone who liked basketball as much as he did, but Midorima, despite his outer appearance that was the very picture of a typical "nerd", was certainly a very close second. In fact, the only time he _didn't_ throw Seijuurou's advice or compliments back in his face with flustered reprimands was when Seijuurou was helping him improve his beloved three-pointers or practice his defense (the latter, mostly by blowing past Seijuurou's attempts to guard his basket over and over again, which was amusing for him and eminently frustrating for Midorima, but the uptight boy couldn't deny that his reflexes had never been sharper).

Midorima was his playmate, his rival, his confidante, and his best and only friend. So one day, a little more than a year into their acquaintance, Seijuurou decided to tell him what he had never spoken of to another living soul…and the resulting conversation was less than satisfying.

"I'm adopted."

He and Midorima were sitting side-by-side on one of the benches outside of their favorite court's tall fences, sipping on chilled drinks as they waited for the high-schoolers inside to finish their match. It was early summer and the sun was high overhead, so for once, Midorima had divested himself of his knitted vest and was using it to mop up the sweat that dotted his brow. He halted in his exasperated movements, however, and froze like a deer in the headlights as soon as his brain computed Seijuurou's (seemingly) nonchalantly spoken words.

"I saw your mother when she came to pick you up last year, Akashi. You look exactly like her." Midorima's voice was nearly flat, as always, but the cautious look he darted at his shorter companion immediately afterwards – obviously to make sure that he hadn't hurt Seijuurou's feelings somehow, the softie that he was – was anything but careless. Seijuurou smiled back at him, humorlessly, and gave him the muggle-friendly version of the truth of his heritage:

"There is some relation. I'm simply not my parents' son." Midorima looked so incredibly uncomfortable with their current topic of conversation that Seijuurou would've been laughing if speaking the previous words out loud for the first time hadn't made it all so distressingly **real** to him. "They think I don't know."

"…Oh."

They both sat in silence for a long while, staring off into the distance and immersed in their own thoughts. The high-schoolers had packed up and left the court a while ago, but neither boy made any move to stake a claim on it before another group could.

"You have the look of an Akashi," Midorima finally broke the silence after a fortifying sip of his cold shiruko. "I've never met your father, but you and your mother have the exact same smile. You're a…nice person, undeniably a genius athlete, and a great student. I don't think your parents are disappointed in you."

For the first time in a long, long while, Seijuurou was so surprised by something he had heard that he inadvertently allowed his shock to show on his face, his eyes widening and jaw dropping the slightest bit. Thankfully, Midorima was too engrossed in pretending that not a single word had come out of his mouth to notice the slip, but Seijuurou was quick to regain his composure nonetheless, trying hard not to get angry at his friend for his assumptions.

He didn't know what he'd been expecting when he suddenly decided to unload his family issues on the poor boy, really: for Midorima to somehow have documented proof on hand that Seijuurou was indeed his parents' son? That he was really Akashi Seijuurou after all? That he wasn't a **fake** , magically created copy of the son his mother _should_ have had?

At any rate, Midorima's paltry attempt at easing Seijuurou's perceived insecurities was so incredibly _**offensive**_ in its blithe, childish arrogance that the Akashi heir had to silently congratulate himself for not instantly shoving the taller boy off the bench and kicking him a few times while he was down, for good measure. Midorima didn't mean anything bad by it, Seijuurou knew that, but hearing him talk like that, like he _understood_ even a _fraction_ of what he was talking about…

Still, violence was bad, and good manners came first.

"…Thank you, Shintarou."

There. He'd respected social norms of politeness, and acted like a sane human being instead of bowing to the urge to _stomp on Midorima's precious manicured fingers until he cried_ that was floating around the darker edges of Seijuurou's mind, nebulous and seductive.

His acknowledgement of his friend's good intentions having been expressed, however reluctantly, Seijuurou got to his feet, tossed his empty can into a nearby bin, and promptly set off towards the empty court, slowly relaxing his shoulders and unclenching his fists as he went.

He wouldn't be able to play basketball for at least a week if he had to wait for crescent-shaped gouges in his palms to heal, after all.

\- o - O - o -

Midorima Shintarou stared at Akashi's retreating back, blinking in shock at both the uncommonly familiar address and at the sudden, ominous shiver that had raced down his back – like he'd somehow just set in motion something terrible.

 _Just now…was his left eye…?_

* * *

Shortly after Seijuurou turned twelve years old, the Midorimas, who by now were close family friends of the Akashis, invited Seijuurou and his parents to one of Shintarou's piano recitals for the first time.

This didn't even make the top ten in how Seijuurou preferred to spend his evenings, but in this particular case it seemed that refusing wouldn't be an option: his mother was adamant that he be there to support his friend, and his father would never pass up a chance at attending a classical music concert, even if the musicians performing were around the same age as his son. Seijuurou, for his part, was far more partial to muggle classic rock; moreover, he knew for a fact that Midorima had despised every second of every piano lesson his parents had ever pushed him into sitting through, and loathed having to periodically perform in front of a small crowd of strangers even more… But, his personal reservations aside, Seijuurou wasn't in the habit of blatantly disobeying his parents or complaining excessively about orders which he was given.

So it was that the Akashi family left their ancestral home comfortably early on a balmy September evening, dressed to the nines even though Seijuurou was quite sure that a single one of the earrings his mother had chosen to don for the occasion probably cost more than anything anyone else would be wearing at the small reception.

Eyes followed the family as soon as they stepped out of their unnecessarily expensive car and onto the pavement in front of the small concert hall. The Akashis made for a handsome couple after all, especially since, as it was the first time his parents had had a chance to go on anything resembling a date in more than a year, his mother was positively beaming with joy as she daintily held on to his quietly pleased father's arm. Seijuurou, despite barely reaching his mother's shoulder and looking younger than his near-teen status ought to have permitted, was attracting his fair share of looks himself in the tasteful, many-layered charcoal-grey kimono Mayu had picked out for him, but he studiously ignored them as he scanned the small throng of well-dressed parents and other assorted relatives gathered before the hall's entrance, looking for the toweringly tall, green-haired figure that was Midorima Sr.

However, Seijuurou's father seemed to have decided against waiting to meet up with the Midorimas, and instead made his way straight towards the modest building's main entrance, the crowd instinctively shifting out of his way and parting like the Red Sea. Akashi Masaru paid them no mind, halting at the door and staring down the guard posted there until the poor man nervously allowed the little family entrance, looking like he kind of wanted to throw in a salute for good measure – Seijuurou's father had that effect on people. (Seijuurou himself was no slouch in that area, but compared to his father's commanding presence that intimidated everyone he met, from the friendliest neighborhood grandmother to the slimiest politician, the Akashi heir knew that he still had a long way to go.)

The Midorimas, as it turned out, were already seated inside the hall, on the very first row of uncomfortable-looking metal chairs that had been set out for the occasion. Polite greetings were exchanged as everyone settled in, both fathers discussing the latest political news in low tones while their wives happily chatted about how proud they both were of their respective prodigious offspring.

Meanwhile, Seijuurou allowed his mind to drift away to what he felt to be more pertinent matters: judging from the program the receptionist had slipped him on his way past the front desk, Midorima (Shintarou, that was) would be the second to last child playing tonight, out of eight children; all of them would be playing pieces that Seijuurou recognized as fairly long ones. Upon realizing exactly how long it would most likely be until they were allowed to leave, he had to choke down a most un-Akashi-ish groan of frustration, having no wish to be speared with a disapproving glance from his father when this was already shaping up to be a tremendously dull evening.

He wouldn't even have the task of serving as moral support for Midorima to keep his boredom at bay until, by his own estimation, about an hour and a half from now. Seijuurou permitted himself a near-imperceptible sigh and a very slight drooping of his shoulders, before he corrected his posture and pasted on a look of polite interest, staring at the piano that sat on the still-empty stage as if it held his full attention already.

This was going to be a _long_ evening.

* * *

By the time the six children who were set to precede Midorima were done with their respective numbers, it was taking every last drop of Seijuurou's willpower to stay awake.

The school's annual sports festival had been held earlier today and Seijuurou had, unsurprisingly, been chosen to captain the red team, and singlehandedly winning several events and coordinating the schoolmates who had been placed under his jurisdiction had sapped all of his energy. After sitting almost in a trance through the sixth player's, a rather gifted girl who looked to be about eight, flawlessly executed rendition of a very quiet, soothing piece, Seijuurou realized that he could feel his eyelids becoming heavier and heavier with every blink, and briefly considered giving in to the lure of Morpheus's embrace: he knew for a fact that, while his father would be offended at Seijuurou's lack of respect for the musicians, his mother would just find it adorable, and never once had Seijuurou seen Akashi Masaru win a single argument with his wife… But then Midorima made his entrance on the small stage, and Seijuurou pinched his own wrist hard enough to nearly break the skin, refusing to be so disrespectful as to fall asleep in the middle of his best (and only) friend's performance.

Midorima looked even stiffer than usual, clad in a dark child-sized suit with a tie that matched his eyes precisely and with his hair slicked back in precisely the way that he disliked the most – his mother's work, no doubt. Seijuurou doubted anyone had really noticed the tiny badge pinned to his suit's lapel, the lucky item of the day, but he was almost certain that Midorima had had to fight both his parents for permission to wear it even on such a big occasion, nonetheless.

Seijuurou recognized the piece Midorima had picked only because it was one his violin instructor had once raved about for its deceptively simple beauty: trust Midorima to challenge himself endlessly, as usual. Midorima certainly did it justice, as far as Seijuurou could tell, but it might as well have been a robot doing the playing for all the passion Midorima was putting into it. The green-haired boy worked as hard when it came to his daily piano practices as he did for everything else, of course, but he really didn't have an artistic bone in his body and probably would've preferred spending his time perfecting his three-pointers or preparing for the career in medicine Midorima had long since decided to pursue.

(Seijuurou may not have had the easiest familial situation all things considered, and his own parents certainly had expectations of him that were just as high as-, if not higher than-, the Midorimas' expectations of their son; but when Seijuurou had frankly told his mother, at the age of six, that he didn't want to waste even a minute more of his life attending traditional dancing lessons, it hadn't taken much to convince her to let him drop them. Regarding Shintarou's piano and tennis lessons, the Midorimas were not so merciful.)

Eventually Midorima finished his piece and bowed himself out under plentiful applause, then the evening's last performer did his part, and finally, _finally_ , it was over. Seijuurou thought wistfully of his bed at home, kept fresh and fluffy and clean-smelling at all times by the Akashi family's devoted servants, and began counting down the seconds until he could collapse onto it and into blissful oblivion.

His mother, as apt at reading him as she had ever been, took one look at the weariness in his countenance and made their excuses with the Midorimas, frowning implacably at his father when it looked like the man might be inclined to try and have a chat with the musicians as he always did after concerts – never mind that the oldest of these particular musicians wasn't even fourteen.

The Akashi family floated slowly out of the concert hall, Seijuurou's parents discussing the show with quiet appreciation while Seijuurou himself trailed after them and did his best not to walk like he'd gotten into bottles of the sort of stuff no boy his age should've been drinking.

It all happened in an instant.

The three Akashis were just crossing the threshold of the concert hall's main entrance, headed towards the family car that had remained parked just a few feet away from said hall throughout the entire performance. Through the front left-side windows, Seijuurou could see their driver, Fujioka-san, reading a thick detective novel, earphones from some kind of mp3 device plugged firmly into his ears. Seijuurou squinted, trying without much success to decipher the book's title in the street lamps' dim light.

Meanwhile, his father must have made some sort of humorous comment Seijuurou had been too tired to really register, because his mother had to raise a hand and cover her mouth demurely, a laugh like a babbling brook and jingling bells spilling through her slender fingers. She glanced back at Seijuurou over her shoulder, smiling widely, radiantly at her son as though to invite him to join in on their merriment – and then, just like that, she was gone.

No, not gone. She was just – laid out on the ground under a big, black shape.

Red.

A piano…crushed…what?

Blood?

She looked like a disarticulated puppet, most of her body hidden from view under the large red-splattered grand piano, but those of her limbs that could be seen were splayed out in unnatural positions.

Who? Who was she? Was that his mother? Where was his mother?

Seijuurou was screaming, he could feel the strain in his throat, but he couldn't hear it at all. What? What? Had he gone deaf? Why was his father's face so incredibly pale?

Her beautiful scarlet evening dress, worn to match both male Akashis' hair, had become a deep crimson. Could the human body even hold that much blood?

Ah, his _geta_ and _tabi_ were completely red. The maids would have a fit over that…

She was still smiling tenderly at him – that was, the half of her face that wasn't crushed beyond recognition.

His father's shoulders were shaking.

Red and blue lights…too late.

Who was this guilt-stricken man in overalls and a baseball cap, staring wretchedly at his mother? Didn't he know that staring was rude, even if the person in question was a corpse?

For some reason, Seijuurou half-expected her to just get up and walk it off. This was reality, though, not an American cartoon. Slender, somewhat sickly women who had grand pianos dropped onto them from two floors above did not get away unscathed; in fact, they didn't survive. Case in point.

 _Okaa-sama is dead_. **Kaa-chan is gone**.

Paramedics had enlisted the help of the horrified crowd to lift the grand piano off her still, un-breathing, un-living body. Somehow Midorima was now standing by Seijuurou's side, looking aghast and shocked and terror-stricken, clutching onto Seijuurou's small hand hard enough to leave bruises.

His father was _crying_.

And still, _still_ , that horrible half-of-her smiled.

* * *

 **_...o-0-l-O-l-0-o…_**

* * *

Seijuurou's first day of middle school was a day of exceedingly blue skies…the likes of which one wouldn't have expected to see in Tokyo in April.

Teikou- _chuugakkou_ was a high-class establishment, famous for turning out competent, well-rounded students who went on to enroll in a number of elite high schools throughout the country. Prospective students had to either come from money or earn one of a very small number of academic scholarships if they were to have a chance at making it in, though exceptions were made in some cases, as the school also prided itself on its athletics.

Seijuurou himself had made it in through a combination of all three, though simply having the Akashi fortune at his back would've guaranteed him entrance anyway. For Midorima, it had been a bit of a stretch, but the green-haired boy's parents were determined enough to have Shintarou make something of himself that they took the hit to their finances gamely for the sake of their son's future.

True to its reputation, the school was enormous, consisting of a number of tall concrete buildings that differed from other middle schools' locales only in that they were completely spotless despite being colored a near-white shade of gray that was almost blindingly bright in the bright morning sunshine, from ground to roof. Cherry blossom trees in full bloom stood proudly in every corner of the campus, their scattered petals dancing in the brisk spring breeze and decorating passing students' white blazers with splashes of light pink. It was a picturesque sight, and Seijuurou told himself that he was fully enjoying it, and that the petals that littered the dusty ground in an explosion of color most certainly did _not_ remind him of splatters of crimson liquid that he _**had never witnessed**_.

Midorima, who was standing by his side as had become the norm over the past four years, cleared his throat uneasily, and Seijuurou realized that the bespectacled boy had most likely deduced what Seijuurou was thinking about, if the carefully hidden look of sympathy on Midorima's face was any indication, and was trying to snap him out of it.

Midorima had been very good to him in the six months since his mother's… _violent_ passing, doing his very best to keep Seijuurou's mind off his inevitable grief and enduring the vicious, cutting tongue-lashings Seijuurou would sometimes find himself launching into when his friend's hovering became too much, without a word of complaint. Midorima really was a good friend despite his somewhat stuck-up personality, so Seijuurou decided that it was time to stop making the other boy worry about him so much.

It had been half a year since that horrible day; it was spring; he was starting middle school. This was a time for new beginnings, not for dwelling on the past, Seijuurou decided as he offered Midorima a slight smile and took his first step into Teikou's main courtyard; the green-haired boy followed him wordlessly, but the way he had to resort to adjusting his glasses to hide a blush told Seijuurou that his unspoken words of thanks had been heard clearly.

Together, they made their way towards the bulletin boards that were lined along the side of the school's central building; a large crowd of white-blazered students had already gathered around them, pushing and shoving to get to whatever billboard contained their respective class assignments. Midorima looked apprehensive at the prospect of trying to force his way through the throng, but Seijuurou kept walking unerringly forward, only taking the time to adjust his posture ever-so-slightly – throwing his shoulders back a tad further, lifting his chin and making his steps longer – and suddenly people were shifting out of his way instinctively.

They all frowned quizzically after him as soon as he had passed them by, wondering why their bodies had moved seemingly without any input from their conscious minds, but they let him through nonetheless, only reforming into a writhing mass after Seijuurou had ascertained his and Midorima's placement in class 1-A and wandered off towards the gymnasium wherein the opening ceremony would be held. Midorima followed with a distinctly rueful countenance.

His first classes of the year were long and tedious. The teachers did nothing but introduce themselves in an endless succession of forgettable names, and faces adorned with the kind of snobbish expressions that could only come from teaching in a prized institution amongst children just as stuck-up and entitled as they.

The syllabi they outlined for their respective classes did not include a single topic that Seijuurou hadn't already studied and mastered several years ago. Seijuurou made a mental note of those children that looked apprehensive at the prospect of such intensive studies, those who projected a sense of smug confidence they would no doubt soon be stripped of once Seijuurou and Midorima's places as top of their class were inevitably established, those who looked bored of middle school entirely already, and a single interesting pair sitting near the back by the windows: a tall, tanned boy with dark blue hair who was snoozing shamelessly on his desk, and a pretty pink-haired girl sitting next to him, who was trying to wake him up with the wearily exasperated air of one who had had to go through this song-and-dance a million times before.

The girl's eyes were sharp with the kind of intelligence and cunning one didn't often see in twelve-year-olds. The structure of the boy's musculature, as well as the thick calluses on his broad palms, were obvious hints that he had been playing some kind of sport (basketball, by Seijuurou's very much expert estimation) since childhood, and that he was more than a little talented at it. Moreover, boy and girl evidently shared a strong bond.

Seijuurou wagered that both of them would be joining him on the basketball club's first string before the week was out.

* * *

The ball smacked into his outstretched palm. Without missing a beat, he started dribbling, making his way unerringly towards the opposite basket.

Two seniors stepped into his path. He drove past the first one. The second one was more tenacious; a bit of fancy ball handling, though, and Seijuurou was free to move forward once more.

One of his teammates was free; the ball went soaring towards the unremarkable brunet first-year. The boy was in perfect position to shoot a lay-up, but he hesitated, fumbled, and the ball bounced ineffectively off the rim.

One of the seniors was quick to snatch the rebound, the opposing team's zone defense dissolving as they seamlessly moved into attack again. They were a decent enough team, working together like a well-oiled machine, but Seijuurou was better.

He waited for the senior who was still in possession to pass him by, stole back the ball with a back tip, and promptly dashed towards the enemies' basket once more. The same brown-haired freshman, now red-faced, was signaling for a pass: hoping to restore his honor in front of the coaches' judging eyes, no doubt.

Seijuurou ignored him. Obviously, if he wanted things done well, he was going to have to either do them himself, or look for more competent teammates.

The enemy team's center had good reflexes, and was quick to backtrack and place himself in Seijuurou's way after Seijuurou's steal; the path to his goal was otherwise unguarded. Seijuurou decided to allow himself a bit of showing off.

Ankle breaking was a matter of timing, precision, and extremely sharp observational skills: not even Seijuurou could perform it at the drop of a hat. But this time, he took advantage of this center's selfsame above-average reflexes to knock him off-balance – and then swept past him without a second glance, leaving him to stare dumbly into space and wonder what on earth just happened.

Seijuurou, with what he knew to be perfect form, leapt lightly off the ground and scored one last basket, the gentle swish of nothing-but-net drowned out by the obnoxious buzzer that signaled the end of the match.

The Akashi heir allowed himself a light sigh of mingled tiredness and satisfaction as he walked off the court without fanfare, wiping at the sweat dripping off his chin with his left shoulder. Behind him, his fellow first-years were cheering and tumbling into a joyful group hug like a quartet of puppies; the third-year second-stringers who had been supposed to demolish them were gazing aimlessly at the scoreboard that proclaimed their own total defeat to the world, still too deeply in shock for anger and resentment to overcome their surprise.

89-67. Not the complete and utter annihilation any first-years who faced Seijuurou's team (and it _was_ Seijuurou's team, no-one who had watched the match could possibly hold any doubts as to who exactly had been the one to single-handedly lead them to victory) would have suffered, but a loss by 14 points was still humiliating for senior members of a club that prided itself on being "Ever victorious".

Seijuurou didn't relish their humiliation, but he couldn't help but feel a sliver of rather vindictive satisfaction nonetheless. The seniors had talked a big game – to Seijuurou especially, whom they had taunted for being one of the very shortest out of the forty-plus freshmen who were hoping to join the basketball club's ranks this year – but had been disappointing in the end. Not a single one of them had displayed the kind of special skill or talent that would've given them a hope in hell of ever becoming Teikou regulars: no wonder they were still second-string even in their final year.

Because Seijuurou liked to believe that he wasn't a cruel person, he didn't point it out to taunt his _senpai_ right back, but he certainly _thought_ it very loudly if the way one of his seniors' – the center he had passed to score his buzzer beater, in fact – face reddened when he caught Seijuurou's eye was any indication.

The third-year stomped over and grabbed Seijuurou by the collar of his loose shirt before any of his teammates could stop him. He was a rather unattractive boy, Seijuurou mused absently as people panicked around them and one of the coaches began heading towards the altercation with a stern look on his face. Seijuurou's aggressor was tall and well-built to the point of being bulky, with a harsh, square-shaped face that could've been good-looking enough, if not for the unfortunate size of his nose and the beady quality of his small black eyes; moreover, said face was flushed with fury and twisted into a grimacing snarl.

Seijuurou imagined the boy probably thought he looked appropriately frightening, but the Akashi heir was so far from impressed he was practically light-years away from it. Before the rapidly approaching coach could break them up, Seijuurou grabbed a hold of the senior's wrist and wrenched the bigger hand away from his collar, letting the older boy feel all the considerable strength of his grip as he slowly bent the wrist back until the senior's elbow started protesting painfully.

(Seijuurou knew that he didn't look like much, his intimidating eyes aside, but really, expecting to get the better of someone who had studied martial arts intensively since their toddler years, through pure brute force, was just plain stupid.)

"Now, _senpai_ ," Seijuurou intoned with quiet menace as he forced the much taller boy to the ground for the second time in as many minutes. "Do control yourself. _Hyakusen hyakushou_ : being unaccustomed to defeat is something I imagine this club prizes, but being unable to take it gracefully will never, in any way, shape or form, be an asset."

A small crowd had gathered in a ring around the two of them by the time Seijuurou let the boy's wrist go, watching the proceedings as avidly as witnesses to a particularly bloody car accident – those of that particular breed of heartless bastards that were always quicker to use their phones to record the events than to call for an ambulance. Even the coach had neglected to intervene until Seijuurou had decided that the message had truly sunken in, and was now staring at Seijuurou like he was a kitten that had suddenly unsheathed claws bigger than a Bengal tiger's. The officially instigated basketball club members who had watched the whole thing seemed to be feeling both terrified and morbidly amused, and Midorima was fighting his way through the crowd towards Seijuurou, even though he had seen Seijuurou judo-flip people twice his size often enough to know that Seijuurou was fully capable of handling himself.

Two hours later, the third-year center had long since fled to nurse his wounded pride, the entire incident had been glossed over, and Coach Sanada was announcing the new club members' identities and respective positions, his voice ringing clearly in the otherwise anxiously silent gymnasium.

The new third-stringers' names were called out, then the second-stringers'. Naturally, Seijuurou's name wasn't among them; but, in what Seijuurou could tell from the senpai's not-so-discreet whispers was an unprecedented turn of events, four other first-years – besides Seijuurou himself, obviously – had made it to first string.

Midorima was no surprise to Seijuurou, given that he'd been his friend's unofficial trainer for a good three years now and knew the taller boy's abilities like the back of his hand. Despite Midorima's young age, he was already an exceptionally talented shooting guard.

As per Seijuurou's predictions, the tanned blue-haired slacker from his class, an Aomine Daiki, had been good enough to make the cut. While playing, his eyes had shown a liveliness and excitement that seemed to be glaringly absent in any other circumstances; his fluid, unpredictable playing style and unique agility made him a formidable fledgling power forward.

Then there was Haizaki Shougo of class 1-C, a boy Seijuurou had disliked at first sight, who had very pale grey hair and a smirking sort of grin that immediately denounced him as an untrustworthy individual. Obviously lacking personality aside, he was a good all-rounder, and his little copying trick would make him a more than adequate small forward.

And lastly, there was a very tall and bored-faced boy with purple hair who had whipped out an extra-large pack of prawn crisps the instant the buzzer signaling the end of his own tryout match had sounded – Murasakibara Atsushi, also of 1-C. His height, power and knack for defense were all signs that he would eventually develop into a fine center.

"Ever victorious" was Teikou's motto. Anyone with working eyes had to have been able to see that none of the team's current regulars possessed a fraction of the potential the five rookie first-stringers had exhibited during their respective tryouts, though several of them probably had experience enough to beat them in a one-on-one still. Seijuurou had no doubt that this would change in the near future, however, and he allowed himself a rare, genuinely pleased smile at the knowledge that soon he would get the chance to test his skills against the kind of opponents that would offer him a thrill that the occasional serious match against Midorima could never compare with.

He couldn't wait. He was sure that basketball would become even more fun than it had always been.

Seijuurou tossed his towel around his still sweat-damp neck and began following the exhausted procession towards the locker rooms, noticing out of the corner of his eye the pink-haired girl from his class approaching Coach Sanada with what looked very much like a club application form – aiming for a managerial position, then. So focused was Seijuurou on speculating as to how he might go about establishing himself as an irreplaceable part of Teikou's basketball team, he almost showed actual surprise when a hand suddenly clamped down onto his shoulder.

"Wait a minute there…Akashi Seijuurou-kun, was it?"

The deep, drawling voice belonged to a handsome, fairly tall second-year student with slick dark hair and sharp gray eyes. Seijuurou stared up at him mutely, feeling uncommonly confused: the tightness of this boy's grip as well as his rather unfriendly tone should have put Seijuurou on his guard, but the look of rather tactless, but not unkind frank honesty on the senior's face was anything but threatening.

"Yep, definitely you: eye-catching hair colors like yours aren't a dime a dozen," the older boy went on, apparently not having expected any response from Seijuurou in the first place. "Now don't get me wrong, you certainly don't lack talent as a basketball player and playmaker, but the thing that impressed me most of all about your match was the way you took down that upstart senpai at the end. I like you, Akashi. Would you like to become my apprentice of sorts?"

Seijuurou frowned up at the boy but replied with seemingly perfect politeness, "Pardon me, senpai, but it seems you've forgotten to introduce yourself. Also, no offence meant, but who exactly are you to offer anyone an apprenticeship 'of sorts'?"

The second-year, far from being offended by the blade-sharp sarcasm Seijuurou had disguised under his mannerly tone, only gave a hearty laugh, slapping Seijuurou's back companionably as he did so. "Ha! I really do like you, Akashi! You and I are going to get along just fine.

"As for my name," he went on, flashing Seijuurou a confident grin, the inherent charisma of which even the Akashi heir was impressed by, "it's Nijimura Shuuzo, Teikou basketball team's captain. _Yoroshiku na_ , my new disciple."

* * *

Seijuurou enjoyed being vice-captain, and to absolutely no-one's surprise, he made for an irritatingly good one.

The entirety of Teikou's basketball club had soon come to understand that whenever Akashi Seijuurou decided to try his hand at something, he would either manage to do it swiftly, meticulously and flawlessly on the first try, or work relentlessly until he could – whether that something was perfecting a new pass, designing training menus for his fellow first-year first-stringers that were _just_ strenuous enough to make them wish for death without pushing them past their limits, or single-handedly securing both the respect and submission of everyone around him save Coach Shirogane and Captain Nijimura in under six months.

However, no matter how often Seijuurou had attempted to close the distance between all of them (partly for the sake of smoother teamwork and partly because Seijuurou would've liked to make more friends than just Midorima and now Nijimura-san), the bonds between the five first years who had again made Teikou history by becoming regulars within two months of their induction into the basketball club, were still so weak as to be called tenuous.

Aomine wasn't unsociable per se, but didn't really seem interested in spending time with anyone besides his childhood friend Momoi and the occasional fellow first-stringer who didn't hate his guts _too_ intensely. He and Seijuurou meshed like oil and water: they both had alpha personalities, after all. Aomine was too much of a free spirit to let himself be taken in by Seijuurou's commanding presence and his by now almost subconscious tendency to subjugate those around him to his will.

Midorima was Seijuurou's friend, obviously, but had deemed all of his new teammates too boisterous for his tastes, and secretly resented them all for their insistence on teasing him for his habit of carrying around so-called lucky items.

Murasakibara didn't seem to like or dislike or, well, _care_ about anyone in particular – save for Seijuurou himself, whom he had imprinted on like a duckling to its mother. His lazy attitude and the way he had of putting down those of the basketball club whose talent didn't match up to their love for the sport, didn't win him any friends amongst the new regulars or anywhere else.

(Seijuurou didn't count him as a new friend yet, as the much taller boy had apparently decided that becoming Seijuurou's underling or pet was preferable, and behaved accordingly.)

Worst of all was Haizaki, who looked down on everyone around him and certainly wasn't afraid to show it. He was a disruptive element – violent, arrogant, greedy and just plain unlikeable – and had thrown off the teamwork the five first-year regulars were all still working on, more than once, by hogging the ball so he could show off to the squealing females who, inexplicably, tended to follow the unpleasant "bad boy" around like bees to honey.

The five of them were a full team – six of them, in fact, for Nijimura-san had been the only regular good enough (and sportsmanlike enough) to keep his position despite Aomine being well on his way to surpassing him – on paper, but in reality, they were more like five individuals who all acknowledged each other's talents, however reluctantly, but resented having to stand on the same court all the same. Midorima was friends with Seijuurou, who was liked by Murasakibara but disliked by Aomine, and who disliked Haizaki, who disliked everyone. To put it simply, they were dysfunctional to the extreme.

As such, Seijuurou wasn't surprised when Aomine decided he'd rather spend evening practice alone in the mostly abandoned fourth gym than with his teammates; disappointed, but not surprised. He let the tanned power forward be, only calling him back to the first-string's practice when the day's menu included teamwork drills. It was on these occasions that Seijuurou was able to notice how much happier Aomine had suddenly become: Momoi, when asked, explained that 'Dai-chan' had made a new friend whom he was now training with every night.

Seijuurou was, naturally, interested in this development (steadfastly ignoring the slight pang in his chest at the knowledge that it really _was_ just Seijuurou that Aomine wasn't interested in befriending), and promptly decided that this warranted investigation; and so, one fine October night, he left practice early with Murasakibara and Midorima trailing after him and set off for the fourth gym, ignoring Midorima's increasingly panicked mutters about hauntings as they neared the old building.

The first thought Seijuurou had when he saw Aomine with his new friend was: _night and day_. Where Aomine was tall, the other boy was short; where Aomine was well-built, the other boy looked frail; where Aomine's coloring was dark in both skin tone and the color of his hair and eyes, the other boy's was several shades paler; where Aomine had a strong, jovial sort of presence, the other boy's was weak and gloomy. In the way that they both shifted instinctively to shield each other's blind spots when Seijuurou and his friends (well, one friend and one minion) made their entrance, though, it was made obvious that they were already close despite only having known each other for a few weeks.

"Aomine, so this is where you've been going," Seijuurou spoke up just before the silence could become uncomfortable. "The coach is looking for you. You have cleaning duty tonight, remember?"

Aomine looked a tiny bit disgruntled, but was still noticeably in lighter spirits than he usually was when interacting with Seijuurou. Did this strange boy really have such a positive effect on Aomine's mood, even though Seijuurou had obviously walked in on a confrontation between the two friends?

"Yeah, yeah, like Satsuki would let me forget," Aomine grumbled dismissively in response, so Seijuurou let the matter drop and instead turned his eyes to the boy standing next to the tanned power forward.

"Who's this?" Seijuurou asked politely, because he genuinely _didn't_ _know_ : he didn't recognize the boy before him, even though he'd been so sure that his mental list of those freshmen who had joined the basketball club and kept at it for this long, had been one hundred percent accurate. Obviously he'd been wrong, and Seijuurou did not enjoy making mistakes.

The pale blue-haired boy looked a bit startled to have actually been noticed, and Seijuurou would wager that it was for the same reason why Murasakibara and Midorima had just jumped in surprise after following Seijuurou's line of sight. Almost invisible, huh? Seijuurou had never met someone with such a weak presence before. It was quite fascinating.

Aomine, who was used to both his friend's low presence and Seijuurou's perceptiveness, took it in stride and grinned proudly as he introduced his comparatively tiny companion (which was quite rude, but then Seijuurou had been rude first by addressing the question to Aomine instead of the boy himself): "This is Kuroko Tetsuya – Tetsu. He's in third string!"

A flash of quicksilver embarrassment crossed Kuroko Tetsuya's placid features upon being so bluntly announced as such in front of the first string's rising stars – especially when Murasakibara, tactful as ever, decided to make his newfound disinterest in the boy obvious in the most offhandedly offensive way possible – but he remained silent, observing the other boys' interactions with a glint in his eye that reminded Seijuurou, irresistibly, of himself.

Physically weak, but that lack of presence could be turned into a real weapon on the court with the right training, and those eyes…

"I'm a bit interested in him," Seijuurou announced at last, keeping his eyes trained on the now clearly readable shocked look on Kuroko Tetsuya's face. "Types like him are rare… Say, Kuroko, was it? Would you like to make it to first string?"

He ignored Midorima's scandalized protests and Murasakibara's whining ones, instead staring straight at Kuroko and appreciating the look of resolve that settled onto the boy's forgettable features after a bare second of deliberation and a quick glance at the darker blue-haired boy to his right. Aomine, meanwhile, just stood by and watched Seijuurou scout his friend without a single ounce of surprise, a look of brotherly pride in his eyes and a broad grin on his face that made him shine like the sun even to Seijuurou's jaded eyes.

Aomine had, somehow, never once doubted that Kuroko Tetsuya would make the team, one way or another… To have such faith in each other already – the bond between these two boys was obviously that of best friends, and they'd barely known each other for two weeks.

(Seijuurou would soon find out that the reason Aomine and Kuroko had clicked so well wasn't their compatibility in basketball, but their intense, shared love of the game; and he would come to find that Kuroko had been precisely the glue he needed to keep the team from imploding on itself from the force of so many strong personalities forced to coexist in close quarters.)

For now, however, all he thought was that he couldn't wait to mold Kuroko into someone ready to- and worthy of standing by their side. He had a feeling that Kuroko would be his greatest creation.

* * *

Ogiwara Shigehiro may have been Tetsuya's first friend, and Tetsuya would always be thankful to Ogiwara-kun for noticing him when so many people didn't and pushing him to pursue his initial interest in basketball; but in the end it was Aomine Daiki whom he would always count as his most precious friend.

Aomine-kun truly deserved the title of Tetsuya's light, as Tetsuya had somewhat fancifully started to call him (Aomine-kun had taken to it far too well: really, and people thought that _Tetsuya_ was the embarrassingly dramatic one of the duo). He was kind, warm-hearted, adventurous, free-spirited, and on the court he shone brighter than anyone else. He had his bad points of course – his childishness, his perversion, his dislike of authority and his refusal to be more gentlemanly towards his childhood friend, just to name a few – but Tetsuya soon came to be so taken with his friend that he started to think of those faults as _cute_ and _humorous_ instead of irritating, which just went to show that one couldn't simply join Teikou's basketball team and retain one's sanity.

Another fact that made Aomine-kun's friendship so precious to Tetsuya was the fact that, if not for the tanned PF, Tetsuya wouldn't have stayed on the team at all – and, loss of sanity or not, he wouldn't give up the progress he'd made, the people he'd befriended, and the new chance he'd been granted to keep his promise with Ogiwara-kun, for the world.

Although Tetsuya supposed that, while it was indeed thanks to Aomine-kun that he hadn't quit basketball altogether, in the end it was another person entirely who had seen something of value in his weak, unremarkable, invisible person and had given Tetsuya a chance at truly improving himself.

That person was, obviously, Akashi Seijuurou.

There was no-one in the world that Tetsuya admired more than Akashi-kun – not even Aomine-kun or Nijimura- _senpai_. Tetsuya had done his best to drop the hero-worship when he'd noticed that the distance it automatically placed between himself and his vice-captain saddened Akashi-kun somewhat, but he couldn't quite get rid of the awe that had him automatically following Akashi-kun with his eyes whenever they were in the same room, and doing his very best at practice just for a chance at earning one of those rare smiles Akashi-kun occasionally bestowed on people whose efforts pleased him.

Where Tetsuya could be described as ordinary and painfully average by everyone who had ever noticed him long enough to hold a conversation with him, Akashi-kun was the exact opposite, so much so that Tetsuya often had to wonder if the other boy was actually even real. Akashi-kun was good at _everything_ , and if ever he happened to fail at something, he worked himself to the bone until he could do that something perfectly, too. He was rich and came from a good family, but never flaunted it or looked down on those less fortunate than him – that was, nearly everyone in Teikou. He was strict and demanding with the first-stringers under his command, but never unreasonably so, and was always very concerned over any injuries one of them managed to garner during training. He was kind, polite, soft-spoken but not easily spoken over, intelligent, and a born leader – and on top of it all, he was good-looking, too.

It wasn't like Tetsuya was placing Akashi-kun on a pedestal or refusing to acknowledge his flaws: it was simply that the face Akashi-kun chose to don when around people he didn't completely trust (a number which included, so far, Midorima-kun and Nijimura- _senpai_ , and absolutely no-one else) was flawless, because Akashi-kun would never allow himself to be seen as anything less.

Tetsuya could honestly say that he had grown quite close to all of his teammates in time, save perhaps for Haizaki-kun who wasn't a very amiable person all around. Murasakibara-kun was a gentle giant off the court, Midorima-kun was quite a kind person under all of his quirks and denial, Nijimura- _senpai_ was someone Tetsuya could respect and depend on, and Aomine-kun, of course, was his best friend. Akashi-kun, though, remained a distant figure, someone he would occasionally interact with on a surface level but whose depths remained quite inscrutable to Tetsuya.

For the longest time, Tetsuya was under the impression that Akashi-kun liked it that way, that he preferred to be treated as a prince charming one could look- and swoon at but never approach – like Momoi-san's manager friends did. But Tetsuya was, if nothing else, quite good at reading people, and the loneliness that would sometimes cast a gloomy shadow over Akashi's perfect features before disappearing in the blink of an eye didn't sit right with Tetsuya. Akashi-kun had climbed up to his pedestal on his own, true, but that didn't mean that his teammates shouldn't make the effort to try and join him there whenever possible.

(Tetsuya never wanted the boy to whom he owed so much to ever look so sad.)

* * *

As it turned out, it was easier said than done.

Tetsuya knew for a fact that Akashi-kun didn't dislike him. The freshly instated captain's eyes always seemed a tad warmer when he and Tetsuya conversed, his face taking on a relaxed cast that only served to highlight exactly how tense and stressed Akashi-kun must feel in almost any other circumstances. Tetsuya and Akashi-kun also had similar tastes in books, and were both calm and rational people who often silently commiserated over their teammates' boisterousness and inability to go five minutes without bickering.

Akashi-kun had even gotten Tetsuya a birthday present a few months ago, something he had only bothered to do for Midorima-kun as well. It was just a trinket, a small cellphone charm in the shape of a chibified panther whose blue-eyed glare reminded Tetsuya of Aomine-kun, but Tetsuya cherished it: he knew, after all, that Akashi-kun had refrained from giving him a more lavish gift not because he didn't care about Tetsuya enough to, but because Akashi-kun could tell that it would've only embarrassed Tetsuya if he had done so.

But somehow, all of Tetsuya's attempts to encourage Akashi-kun to make more an effort to forge stronger bonds with the rest of their teammates had been neatly sidestepped. Invitations to their nightly convenience store ice-cream trips were very politely rebuffed, and week-end street ball games remained Akashi-free, as did the occasional trip to karaoke or the arcade. Akashi-kun was apparently determined to keep his distance, even though he quite obviously didn't really _want_ to…it was just too bad for the young captain that Tetsuya could be just as stubborn.

Tetsuya's _socialize Akashi-kun_ plans had to be put on hold for a short while, however, because Akashi-kun, for some unfathomable reason, had decided that Tetsuya was the best person to serve as an instructor for the basketball club's newest rising star: model, once-in-a-generation gifted athlete and all-around golden child Kise Ryouta.

Tetsuya's own ascension to first string had, in a sense, been even quicker than Kise-kun's: sure, he had spent several months as a virtually unknown member of the third string, but once Akashi-kun had noticed him it had only taken a bare few weeks for him to become a regular. Tetsuya was undeniably a specialist-type player, though, and an extreme outlier, whereas Kise-kun had a strong, swift, flexible body that could pick up any sport Kise-kun liked at the drop of a hat, and excel at it.

Kise-kun was more talented than Tetsuya, and would no doubt soon become a regular, relegating Tetsuya to the place of "seventh man", so to speak, when a sixth man was something that most teams would consider obsolete. Tetsuya imagined that this was what their former _senpai_ regulars had felt like, back in first year, when five ridiculously talented freshmen had effortlessly supplanted them in a matter of months.

(Tetsuya, though, at least had the assurance that he wouldn't be discarded as they had been.)

Kise-kun, even without Tetsuya's jealousy inevitably clouding his judgment, probably wouldn't have been one of his favorite people anyway. The young model struck him as a somewhat two-faced person, a cynic who hid his boredom and bitterness behind a flashy veneer of friendliness, though he'd made no effort to sugarcoat the fact that he had no respect for Tetsuya whatsoever, as a person or as a basketball player. Kise-kun only had eyes for Aomine-kun, whom he obviously considered to be a rare equal, and this perhaps annoyed Kuroko most of all: Aomine-kun was a pure, honest, genuinely kind person who was worth a hundred of the shallow Kise-kun.

Tetsuya half-wanted to see Kise-kun direct the same disdainful gazes he shot at Tetsuya at the admittedly compact Akashi-kun, just so the blond would learn what being _obliterated_ on the court felt like, and learn not to judge people by appearances.

Soon enough, though, Tetsuya earned Kise-kun's respect (the phantom sixth man did not doubt for a single second that Akashi-kun had arranged things that way deliberately) and the blond's personality mellowed out until he became…tolerable. Tetsuya wasn't a fan of the strangling, Momoi-san-like hugs Kise-kun had taken to assaulting him with on an alarmingly regular basis, but Kise-kun seemed to have become more genuine, regaining some of the childhood innocence of wonder that becoming a fashion icon at such a young age seemed to have stripped away from him.

Actually, Kise-kun's transformation from a skeptic and a bit of a jerk to an over-affectionate puppy had given Tetsuya hope that perhaps Akashi-kun could become a bit happier as well, if only Tetsuya could find a catalyst to induce such a change.

Kise-kun was far too intimidated by Akashi-kun, however, to properly try and befriend their captain despite their somewhat similar life experiences; so it was that, one fine afternoon as Tetsuya tuned out the blabbering of his blond student as Kise-kun intruded on his personal space by slinging a heavy arm around his shoulders, Tetsuya wondered for the umpteenth time how he might go about easing the burden on Akashi-kun's own shoulders, and glanced over at the redhead in question…

Only to find a pair of scarlet eyes glaring at Kise-kun's arm in a valiant effort to incinerate it.

Had Kise-kun messed up again? The blond didn't seem to be doing anything particularly incriminating at the moment, save for indulging in his irritating tendency to stand far too close to…Tetsuya…

…Oh.

 _ **Oh**_.

* * *

For a long while, Tetsuya did nothing about his revelation. Akashi-kun wasn't the type that would accept a half-assed answer, even should the redhead never take that step and actually _tell_ Tetsuya of his feelings, so Tetsuya certainly wasn't going to bring it up until he was sure of his own.

Over several months, Tetsuya had the chance to observe all of Akashi-kun's actions in a whole new light, and he called himself a thousand kinds of fool for not noticing sooner.

Akashi-kun, unlike Momoi-san, was anything but obvious about his crush on Tetsuya, but all the signs were there for those who knew what to look for; and Tetsuya had always prided himself on being perceptive when it came to people, if nothing else. Akashi-kun never stared at Tetsuya with his heart in his eyes, didn't blush or become clumsy when in Tetsuya's presence, didn't try to surreptitiously initiate small amounts of physical contact between the two of them…

But he did smile a tad more gently at Tetsuya than he did at the rest of the team. He trusted Tetsuya to handle himself, but always stepped in when it looked like Tetsuya needed help, whether it be for basketball, for homework or just to give him advice on whatever personal issues the phantom was going through. Akashi-kun always kept a small amount of distance between the two of them, as if he didn't trust himself not to reach out if Tetsuya were to come too close. He nagged Tetsuya endlessly, in his own reserved manner, about the sixth man's poor eating habits. He always looked subtly peeved when Kise-kun, Aomine-kun or Momoi-san got too touchy-feely with Tetsuya, but never presumed to drag them away despite the pain it caused him to see them so close to the phantom player. Above all, he seemed to think of Tetsuya as an equal, a consideration that Akashi-kun showed no-one else, not even his vice-captain, Midorima-kun; never once had Tetsuya been spoken to with that indulgent, subtly superior tone all of his other teammates were addressed with.

And it was the fact that, when Tetsuya put his mind to it, he actually _noticed_ all those little details that showed Akashi-kun's regard for Tetsuya more than any declarations of love could, that made Tetsuya begin to think that he might like Akashi-kun back.

Akashi-kun was good-looking, rich, intelligent, nice – practically perfect in every way; at first glance, that was. All those imperfections that he so steadfastly hid from the world, though, Tetsuya wanted to find out every last one of them, just so he could accept them all in turn. He wanted to get to know Akashi-kun, not necessarily on a romantic level, but on a deeper one, so that he would have a chance at understanding Akashi-kun the way his captain so effortlessly understood him. He wanted to be closer to Akashi-kun.

Once Tetsuya had ascertained this much, he began to wonder if he was _attracted_ to Akashi-kun: the answer was that, embarrassingly enough, he was.

Now that he was actively looking, it was hard for Tetsuya _not_ to notice exactly how appealing Akashi-kun was. Far too often, he would find his eyes wandering to the smooth collarbones peeking out of the loose shirts Akashi-kun favored for basketball practice; he couldn't help but admire the wiry strength of Akashi-kun's biceps and the sharp, cutting grace of his movements. Akashi-kun's scarlet hair shone like threads of garnet when sunlight hit it just right, and his face was so perfectly symmetrical and well-proportioned, his white skin so flawless, that it was frankly a little unfair. And then there was the way that, whenever Tetsuya 'innocently' used the collar of his jersey to wipe sweat off his face and revealed his stomach in the process, Akashi-kun's self-control would slip for a split-second and his eyes would flash with the sort of thoughts that were seldom far from a teenage boy's mind…

Well. Akashi-kun was beautiful, and kind, and saw Tetsuya as something special, and had helped Tetsuya become who he was today, and _was in love with Tetsuya_. But, unlike Momoi-san, Akashi-kun was a boy.

Tetsuya was the open-minded sort: people were welcome to love whoever they wanted in his opinion. For his part, before he had hit puberty and started thinking of his peers as more than mere classmates or potential playmates, he had never assumed that he might be predisposed to like one gender more than the other, so he wasn't too shocked to find himself seriously considering that he might just have a crush on his captain.

But just because _he_ was fine with that sort of thing didn't mean that his loved ones would be.

This was Japan, after all: homosexuality wasn't so much a fact of life here, as something that _fujoshi_ and _fudanshi_ swooned over, and that most people from generations prior to his own studiously ignored the very existence of.

Tetsuya's grandmother and father would most likely be understanding, if not accepting, if Kuroko were ever to introduce Akashi-kun to them as his boyfriend; but he didn't think his mother, who had been raised in a very strict household and had impressed immaculate manners upon him at a very young age, would ever do the same. Tetsuya didn't know much about Akashi-kun's own home life, but he had been able to gather that his mother had passed away some time ago, and that his father was a strict man who had very high expectations of Akashi-kun: there was no way that Akashi-kun, who would inherit the Akashi family's considerable fortune upon reaching maturity, would be allowed to live in sin, so to speak, with a _boy_ instead of marrying a woman of suitably excellent reputation.

In other words, at risk of sounding like the protagonist in a soppy romance novel, Tetsuya and Akashi-kun's love was doomed.

But still, Akashi-kun must have considered all these concerns before, and yet he obviously hadn't forcibly discarded his feelings for Tetsuya in the same way that he always did, anything that might hinder his plans and/or his future. Surely, then, Akashi-kun could see a way for them to be happy? And Tetsuya surely wouldn't have been thinking of Akashi-kun so often or so fondly if he didn't feel _something_ for Akashi-kun in turn, would he?

As he set off to confront Aomine-kun, hopefully for the last time, for skipping practice yet again, Tetsuya resolved that – since Akashi-kun obviously wouldn't be the one to take that first step – he would confess to his captain at the earliest opportunity.

(He didn't want to lose Akashi-kun just like he was already losing Aomine-kun, after all.)

* * *

" _What are you saying? No… Who are you?"_

" _I'm obviously Akashi Seijuurou…_ **Tetsuya** _."_

* * *

 **_...o-0-l-O-l-0-o…_**

* * *

 **Darkness.**

 **There is no sound, no light, no air around him. His body is functioning, he can feel the beat of his heart and the breath in his lungs, but he can't speak or even move. All he hears, sees, feels, smells, tastes is darkness.**

 **And then he wakes up.**

* * *

He had lost.

Not once in his sixteen years of life had he ever lost before – not even at rock-paper-scissors, because his luck, just like everything else about him, was strong. He had never been wrong, either, not once: completing tests perfectly, playing his violin without a single false note, giving people exactly the answers that they needed when they came to him looking for advice.

But now he saw that he had _always_ been wrong. In fact, he'd been wrong to think that he would never be wrong in the _first_ place.

And he _had_ lost: lost his way, lost his love for basketball, lost control over his mind – or, if you wanted to be brutal about it, lost his mind itself.

After all, the Akashi Seijuurou who had existed over the past two years had been a complete and utter sociopath. Really, the only reason the being ( _which did not know morals or remorse, and had been schooled since childhood in how best to annihilate enemies both physically and magically_ ) had not seriously injured anyone, was that said being had known that not even being the Akashi heir could've saved him from the consequences of his actions if he had done so, and that he'd had his reputation as the Akashi heir to preserve, anyway.

But you didn't have to make people bleed ( _as he had, Kagami Taiga_ ) to hurt them, and Seijuurou had done plenty of that.

Humiliating his opponents on the court; crushing their spirits under his heel. Lording his authority over anyone who dared cross him. Denying both his former- and current teammates their freedom and their right to stand up to him whenever he went too far – which was always. Treating Mayu like mildly convenient furniture, when she had been by his side for as long as he could remember. Trampling over others' pride, others' love, others' dignity, all to feed his own boundless ego.

( _Breaking Kuroko's heart_.)

His teammates probably thought that the reason for Seijuurou's current silence was their recent defeat – that Seijuurou was still refusing to acknowledge the fact that he had lost. The fact was, though, that Seijuurou was too busy drowning in guilt to rejoice at being free once more, or to despair at having broken the winning streak that his Other had thought would be eternal.

"Akashi?"

It was Hayama, sounding concerned for once instead of cheerful and full of boundless energy. Still, Seijuurou kept his face buried in his knees and remained in the dark, secluded corner of the locker rooms that he had chosen to curl up in. ( _Dark places and immobility had been all he knew for a full two years: they were comforting, now, rather than confining._ )

"Oi, Akashi, what's wrong with you? You're not crying are you?"

Nebuya was as tactful as ever. Seijuurou ignored him as well, and heard the brawny second-year snort in annoyance. But Nebuya didn't attempt to force him out of his fetal position – which, for the gruff and thoughtless center, was tantamount to hugging the life of Akashi and petting his hair while offering him milk and cookies in hopes of cheering him up.

"We can't help if you don't tell us what's wrong, Sei-chan."

Seijuurou gave a full-body flinch. He couldn't help it: his Other hadn't cared one way or another as to what people preferred to call him, as long as their chosen sobriquet wasn't demeaning or insulting, but for Seijuurou…that particular nickname should always be reserved for one person, a person who was long gone but whom Seijuurou vowed never to forget as his Other had.

" _Please_ don't call me that, Mibuchi-san."

He heard the three Uncrowned Kings shift uneasily in front of him – and no wonder. First of all: why had this little detail prompted a response from Seijuurou when their prior questions hadn't? Second of all: they still weren't used to hearing Seijuurou actually ask for things politely, like a normal person and not a sociopathic tyrant. Third of all: Seijuurou had never, to their knowledge, given a damn as to who called him what in the past. And lastly: even though they knew that the way Seijuurou had previously called them by their first names only as a subtle ploy to further assert his dominance over them, it still sounded oddly cold for him to address them so formally.

* * *

 **STORY NOTES**

Names of Akashi's parents: **Akashi Masaru** (= victorious) and **Akashi Kimiko** (= empress child), née **Kamiya** (= god valley; incidentally, Evans in Welsh means "god is good").

\- o - O - o -

 **Basic plot outline for this story:**

 **The Akashis are the most powerful – both magic-wise and influence-wise – of Japan. After the Potters' death, there is an international scramble for who will get the Boy-Who-Lived; the Akashis win. Akashi the husband only wants him for the prestige but comes to love him as his own son, if distantly; Harry was adopted by them mostly to serve as a pet-child for Akashi wife who is barren, and she loves him more than life itself.**

 **Harry/Seijuurou eventually finds out that he is adopted – blood-adopted in fact, thus his scarlet hair and eyes – and from then on, always feels the subconscious need to be the best at everything, so that his parents won't regret taking him in.**

 **Accidental magic gives you what you need most in any given situation. When he was about to be defeated by Murasakibara, Harry/Seijuurou was granted an eye that can keep up with his insanely fast reflexes** **(he wanted an eye that could "see the future"** **if he'd seen that falling piano coming, maybe his mother wouldn't have died right before his eyes)** **but making the change in his eye permanent damaged his brain slightly, causing his dormant split personality – which was created during his blood adoption* – to rise to the surface.**

 **Indeed, Harry/Seijuurou was actually a bit old to be receiving a full blood-adoption at the time, and so the two family magicks that were now infused in his blood clashed somewhat, and always will, instead of meshing seamlessly. The Potter family's magick, which is full of compassion, courage and acceptance, is very much unlike the Akashi clan's, which contains impressions of nobility, possessiveness and pride. A witch or wizard's being is comprised of their Body, their Soul, and their Magic, and being blood-adopted changes a young witch or wizard on all those levels; the nature of a wizard's magic affects their personality, though it's a bit of a chicken-and-the-egg sort of thing. At any rate, being forced to accept the Akashi family magicks' "personality" into his own so suddenly created a divide in Harry's Soul that would later lead to the birth of Bokushi, and earlier, to simple anger issues.**

 **Harry/Seijuurou has been in love with Kuroko since he was 13, but does not expect anything to ever come of it. However, Kuroko is an expert at reading people and has, in fact, noticed; he was considering confessing to Akashi before the whole Bokushi thing happened, but then, well…it happened. So not long after the Winter Cup, Kuroko tells Harry/Seijuurou that the feeling is mutual, and for about five or six months they're blissfully happy in their long distance relationship.**

 **But then, at the end of Harry/Seijuurou's sixteenth year of life, Dumbledore is killed, and suddenly the information he had been hiding thanks to his status as Supreme Mugwump of the ICW is released to the world. Harry/Seijuurou, despite his protests, is shipped off to England to "do his prophesized duty", and is barely even given time to say goodbye to Kuroko, assuring him that he loves him and will be back, and asking him to please wait for him, but if Kuroko won't Akashi will deal (that's the adopted-child insecurities right there).**

 **Kuroko isn't about to accept the half-assed explanation, and when the rest of the MiraGen hear the answerphone message, wherein Harry/Seijuurou sounds uncharacteristically strained and miserable, they are worried too. Guess what happens next?**

 **Basically, from this point on, the story begins to focus more on the HP side of the crossover, than the KnB one.**

* * *

 **OCs so far:**

 **Suzumura Hajime:** head butler of the Akashi household, an MMA black belt and five-times dueling champion in the Asian circuit. He is tall, young-looking and deceptively thin, with a gentle face, rather long black hair held back in a small ponytail, and round glasses (picture Yamino from _Matantei Loki_ ). He loves Sei-bocchama more than life itself, but as a member of the Suzumura family who have been the Akashi clan's retainers for generations, his loyalty always goes first to the Akashis' current head – for now, that is Masaru.

 **Tachibana Mayu:** a much-younger _kouhai_ of the late Kimiko at the magical cram school they both attended in their youth. Mayu is, unofficially, Seijuurou's personal maid and sees him as a little brother she must protect at all costs; she was chosen for the job both due to her acquaintance with the Lady Akashi, and due to her exceptional skills in defense, most especially the famously impenetrable wards she can erect in the blink of an eye with _ofuda_. Mayu is tall for a female, and has a very skinny figure; she's pretty enough, but the permanent severe frown she wears somewhat detracts from her beauty. She has light brown hair that she keeps very short, and bright green eyes.

 **Akashi Kimiko née Kamiya:** a proud, almost unnaturally perfect face like Seijuurou's, if not for her rounder, softer eyes – the irises of which are a pretty amber (see Emperor Eye). Her hair is long, dark, straight and very silky; she wears it loose. She is tall and slender, with very pale skin that she passed on to Seijuurou as well, and unlike her husband she likes to wear Western muggle-style clothing: usually a long skirt with a long-sleeved blouse, and low flats or heels. She favors pastel colors and floral designs. She always wears the small ruby earrings her husband gave her for their first anniversary, and a golden locket containing a picture of Masaru and baby Seijuurou.

 **Akashi Masaru:** a face with a handsomeness that is rather harsh, he tends to remain stoic in all situations. His hair and eyes are the same color (for the eyes, also the same shape) as Seijuurou's; his hair is cut very short and he keeps it neat. At home, he prefers the kimono-like robes that most Japanese purebloods favor, but when busy with work he wears Western three-piece suits, which he strongly dislikes. The self-cleaning red handkerchief he always keeps in his suit pocket is embroidered with his wife's initials.

* * *

 **FUTURE EXCERPTS**

 **The Seirin and Rakuzan teams run into each other in one of the Winter Cup's corridors when leaving their respective locker rooms after Seirin's victory in the finals.**

Kuroko's right hand snaked out and grabbed a hold of Seijuurou's collar – and as one, the whole Rakuzan team bristled behind him. Akashi may have been a complete tyrant of a captain, but he was _theirs_ : no-one was going to hurt him on their watch, not even the admittedly scrawny-looking phantom of Seirin.

Meanwhile, Seijuurou braced himself for an Ignite Pass to the face, knowing that he certainly deserved it for having been weak enough to allow the Other to run rampant for a whole two years. Kuroko was a generally peaceful person, but he'd never been shy about delivering physical violence upon idiots, and Seijuurou certainly felt like one at the moment. Like an _absolute_ idiot.

But when Seijuurou was wrenched forward by the surprisingly strong sixth man, it wasn't a fist or palm that met his face: instead, it was a pair of lips that collided with his own.

Seijuurou could dimly hear the people around him gasping, choking on their own spit and/or outright screaming, and spared a rueful wish that Kuroko had chosen to do this, whatever _this_ was, in a more private location; but all thought was wiped cleanly from his mind when Kuroko's lips started moving against his own. They were a bit chapped, but no less pleasant for it, and the inside of Kuroko's mouth, when Kuroko decided to allow his ex-captain passage without Seijuurou even having to ask, was even more so, warm and slick and silky-soft.

Kuroko smelled freshly showered, like the minty soap and deodorant he'd favored for as long as Seijuurou had known him, and his mouth tasted of honeyed lemons and Pocari. Kuroko's bangs were tickling his forehead, and his strong hands were wound tightly into Seijuurou's hair; Seijuurou's arms were wrapped around Kuroko's waist, pressing the passing specialist against him from shoulders to toes, and even through their respective layers of clothing Seijuurou could feel that Kuroko was far too skinny and probably still considered a single cup of vanilla milkshake to be a perfectly acceptable dinner, but Seijuurou could nag him about that _later_ , right now he was kind of busy kissing the hell out of Kuroko—

Wait. Kissing. KUROKO?

In the blink of an eye, Seijuurou went from devouring Kuroko's lips to jumping away from his ex-teammate like a scalded cat. Kuroko made a noise of surprise, but readily let him go, staring back at him with perfect composure if not for his slightly labored breathing and the string of saliva that had trailed down to his chin. Humiliatingly enough, Seijuurou was pretty sure that he looked far more debauched in comparison: his lips felt tingly and swollen, his redhead's skin had always blushed easily, and he'd never felt more like a deer in the proverbial headlights.

The rest of the Seirin and Rakuzan teams were still just standing there, staring avidly like he and Kuroko had suddenly become their favorite soap opera. Seijuurou, out of the corner of his eye, saw Reo discreetly wiping away a nosebleed, and thought viciously, _Quadrupled training regimens all-around tomorrow_.

"You…" Seijuurou said eventually, once he'd regained his composure somewhat. "You shouldn't have done that."

Kuroko's face crumpled with disappointment just the tiniest bit, in a way that most people wouldn't notice but that Seirin most definitely had if the way they all bristled protectively was any indication. "Akashi-kun – the real Akashi-kun – was in love with me, back in Teikou. Or at least I've always thought so, and I'm usually right about such things. Was I…wrong, this time?"

Seijuurou was equal parts joyful that his feelings were reciprocated, and mortally embarrassed that his thirteen-year-old self had apparently been seen through so easily, but mostly all he felt was defeat, which still tasted bitter and unfamiliar on his tongue, in a way that even the sweetness of Kuroko's mouth couldn't chase away, despite his having experienced it less than an hour ago.

"Of course I do," he replied plainly, his voice heavy with a myriad negative emotions he couldn't quite express. "But Kuroko…how could I possibly be with you?"

"Is this about you two being guys?" Kagami interjected furiously, his previous resolve to hold his tongue and let things play out between the ex-Teikou duo apparently evaporating like a puddle in the Sahara desert. "Or is it because Kuroko's not a rich bastard like you? 'Cause I swear to you, Akashi, if you hurt Kuroko—"

Seijuurou appreciated the power forward's concern for Kuroko; he did _not_ , however, appreciate the interruption.

"I'll thank you not to butt in on matters that don't concern you, Kagami Taiga," Seijuurou rounded on him so viciously that everyone present nervously checked his left eye for any traces of amber. Then his face softened until it looked more unguarded, when his eyes met Kuroko's once more, than anyone had ever seen it since his second year at Teikou. "Kuroko…"

"Yes, Akashi-kun?" Kuroko prompted with almost imperceptible impatience. If Akashi was going to reject him, Kuroko would really rather he do it right away instead of leaving him hanging in front of all his teammates and former opponents.

"…Of course I still love you," Seijuurou said at last, unusually subdued. "But Kuroko, what I did to you…regarding basketball, it was one thing. My attitude over the past two years has been less than sportsmanlike, but plenty of athletes are as competitive and…condescending as I was. In more personal matters, though…

"Ruining your friendship with Ogiwara Shigehiro, destroying your enjoyment of basketball, forcing you to take up this crusade to set me straight after I went off the deep end and took Aomine, Murasakibara, Midorima and Kise down with me…After everything I did, you can't possibly still want to be with me? Kuroko, you're the best person I know, the kindest, so you've probably forgiven me already, but I don't deserve it. I…I don't deserve you."

There was a long, heavy silence as Seijuurou averted his eyes from Kuroko's stunned ones. Onlookers simultaneously fought not to gape upon hearing _the_ Akashi-sama declare himself not worthy of something, and silently considered that maybe they really shouldn't have been listening in on this after all; Kuroko, for his part, found himself rendered quite speechless.

Seeing as Akashi had returned to his former self, near the end of their match, without any real pressure or input on Tetsuya's part (it was just _typical_ of his ex-captain to remain fiercely independent in absolutely _all_ circumstances), Tetsuya hadn't thought that Akashi would feel any particular guilt or need to apologize to Tetsuya, or thank the Phantom player for bringing him back to his former self. After all, while the Akashi-kun Tetsuya had known back in Teikou had been nothing like the near-deranged boy who had inhabited Akashi's body for the past two years, that didn't mean that the Akashi-kun of back then had been any less of a relentless perfectionist, or any less prideful.

Tetsuya…truthfully hadn't been expecting to ever hear an apology or even an acknowledgement, on Akashi-kun's part, of his past sins – and he'd been ready to declare his love and finally claim Akashi-kun as his own, regardless.

Tetsuya shouldn't have been surprised, though, really: Akashi-kun had always had a way of making Tetsuya love him even more, whenever the phantom player thought his heart had already reached its full capacity.

\- o - O - o -

 **On Akashi and Kuroko's first date:**

 **Kuroko:** "Akashi-kun looks very cool today."

 **Akashi:** "Ah, thank you, Kuroko. Mayu picked out this outfit for me."

 **Kuroko:** "Mayu…Could that possibly be a new nickname for Mayuzumi-san?"

 **Akashi:** "Eh? No, of course not. I was referring to one of my maids."

 **Kuroko:** ' _Right…I keep forgetting that this person is actually a rich bocchan_.'

\- o - O - o -

 **After Akashi/Harry is summoned back to England, and leaves with only a single rushed phone call for Kuroko, who instantly calls his fellow GoM over for an urgent Miracles pow-wow.**

"But why would he _say_ that? Is Akashi-kun…tired of me? Is he leaving me? I don't understand…" Kuroko's normally monotonous voice was thick with the threat of oncoming tears, and instantly, panicked looks were shared between the big, tough, manly basketball players occupying the room. No-one knew how to handle a crying Kuroko – the sights and sounds were reminiscent of puppy that had just been viciously kicked, and it was heart-wrenching to watch.

Thankfully, if there was one person in Teikou's basketball team that had always been indifferent enough to Kuroko's emotional well-being to keep his head in such situations, it was the Generation of Miracles' Number One Shooter. "Akashi has very strong abandonment issues," Midorima declared unequivocally, with the air of someone stating that the sky is blue and the grass is green.

There was a long, heavy silence in the room, one of the _what-the-hell-did-I-just-hear?_ variety; but Midorima, for once, did not falter or embarrassedly struggle to defend his position under the incredulous stares of his ex-teammates. Instead, he simply crossed his arms and waited for the questions to start flying.

"Midorimacchi…this is _Akashicchi_ we're talking about here," Kise began delicately, as though he thought Midorima had finally cracked and was a hair away from snapping and murdering everyone with his lucky item of the day – a child's plastic pirate saber. "He doesn't _do_ being abandoned – _he_ abandons others instead!"

Kuroko made a sound like a mouse being trodden on, causing everyone to realize what Kise had just inadvertently implied, and the copycat hastened to correct his mistake, "Ah, but I'm sure that's not what's happening here! Akashicchi still loves Kurokocchi, and he'll be back soon and you'll still be together, _ne_? _Ne_?" As he patted Kuroko's back comfortingly, he kept glancing over his shoulder, shooting his ex-teammates a look that screamed, _Back me up here!_

" _O-ou_ , Kise's right for once," Aomine spoke up gruffly, scratching at the bridge of his nose as he executed a Midorima-worthy _tsundere_ -toss of his head. "Akashi's stupid about you, Tetsu – case in point. He's not being his asshole Emperor self and ordering you to wait for him, he's giving you a choice! That's a pretty big thing from that red bastard."

But Kuroko was obviously not going to feel better until Akashi was back by his side. "But why would he even give me that choice if he trusted me to wait for him?" _Aaaand_ there went the first tear.

Kise and Aomine _freaked_.

"Whoa-whoa-whoa, Tetsu, Tetsu, _no_ , shit, sorry, don't cry—"

"Kurokocchi! It's gonna be alright, I swear—"

"Ah. I ran out of snacks…"

Everyone paused for a moment to stare disbelievingly at the now sulking Murasakibara, and Midorima took his chance to get the infuriating group back on track. How Akashi could ever have handled being saddled with the responsibility of corralling this group of absolute _morons_ , Midorima never wanted to know…

"Akashi is adopted."

There was a second, even longer silence, but this time Midorima didn't wait for his idiotic teammates – and a very distraught Kuroko who wasn't thinking clearly at the moment due to distress, but was _usually_ the sanest and most rational one of them all – to start up another fuss over something inane, and went on.

"He's never told me this in so many words, but ever since he found out as a small child that he wasn't his parents' son by blood, he's done everything he could to live up to the Akashi name, because he was deathly afraid that, if he disappointed his parents in any way, he would be thrown away. Again, this is mere conjecture, but the unhealthy mentality he later developed – that winning was everything, and he would be worth less than nothing if he were ever to lose – was born from his feelings of inadequacy and fear of abandonment, and probably only grew stronger under Teikou's doctrine.

"The…other Akashi, so to speak, was born not long after that. That Akashi was everything the original Akashi wanted to be – strong, a winner, and absolutely certain of his place as the Akashi family's heir, as Akashi Seijuurou."

It was obvious from the look on his teammates' faces that they were now recalling unkind thoughts they'd had in the past regarding Akashi's perfectionism and obsession with success, and regretting them. Kuroko, on the other hand, had a look of abject realization on his usually blank face, but at least he had stopped crying, so Midorima counted it as a win.

"…How did you know?" Murasakibara was the first to speak up, sounding both surprisingly serious and surprisingly angry.

Midorima, thrown off by the normally laid-back giant's sudden change of mood, only replied with an intelligent, "Eh?"

"Why do you know all this about Aka-chin? How come you're the only one who knew?" the purple-haired center's fists were twitching with the urge to get into their signature 'gonna crush you' pose, but the glimmer in his violet eyes wasn't one of rage or resentment – rather, it was one of hurt.

Oh…of course. Save for that one incident back in Teikou when he'd attempted to defy their diminutive captain and had been slapped down twice as hard as he'd tried to rise up, Murasakibara had always been the one, out of all of them, who was most loyal to Akashi, following his every order with almost puppyish devotion. Murasakibara loved Akashi, not like a lover or brother, but in a fashion more similar to the way a pet loved its master, and to hear that he hadn't been trusted with this information when Midorima had, probably cut deep.

Well, there was nothing for it. Somehow, this had just never come up in all the years Midorima had known these five, so…

The shooting guard pushed his glasses further up the bridge of his nose in an effort to hide the flustered look in his eyes, and quietly replied, "Well, actually…I knew Akashi long before we got on the same team back in Teikou. The two of us have been f-friends for about eight years now."

Silence, again. Midorima should make dramatic revelations more often – the way he kept constantly shutting up his teammates without any effort was both relaxing and eminently satisfying.

* * *

 **And that's all I've got so far. I've been considering publishing all this for a while, I figured that, if Shadowblayze could get away with publishing their own "Fragments" without being inundated with flames and/or demands for continuations, I probably could as well, so...here we are. There will be more to come in the future, but I've just spent an entire afternoon editing all these old things for your reading pleasure, so please give your poor, overworked author a break, 'kay?**

 **Hope you all liked these story beginnings, despite their unfinished quality!**

 **Reviews are good for the soul.**

 **Saggezza out.**


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